Varia
by evadnekapaneos
Summary: This is a serie of one-shots and sort of ʻextended scenesʼ, set around the plot of Cursed Child and following canon. Contains for now:: a meeting with Hagrid; a conversation between Albus and his mother; Astoria's funeral; Thestrals; Ron; the Trace; about Malfoy; Hagrid; the Forbidden Forest; final discussion; Appendices.
1. Tea at Hagrid's

_All these scenes are based during the course of action, occuring in Harry Potter and the Cursed Child by J.K. Rowling, J. Thorne and J. Tiffany as well as on anything else J.K. Rowling has revealed about her Wizarding World that she has so wonderfully created and solely owns of course. I hope you'll enjoy them._

* * *

 _This scene takes place on friday after Albus_ _ʼs first week at school, i.e. during Act One, Scene Four of Cursed Child._

Albusʼs first week passed under constant stares and whispers. But as much as he was talked about, as little anybody spoke with him. All he got, were curious glances and Scorpius, who regularly trod on Albusʼs foot in fright whenever a passing student sneered at him. Their solitude was only interrupted on Friday morning by Rose, who placed herself in front of them at their lonely place down the Slytherin table. Scorpiusʼs face lightened up and he whispered something unintelligible, but Rose ignored him and eyed Albus.

ʻYou are aware that Hagrid has invited us for the afternoon?ʼ

ʻIʼm not going,ʼ hissed Albus, hating Rose for her arrogant manner, of which he had become more and more aware during the week.

ʻThis would be really rude. Itʼs not Hagridʼs fault that you like nobody.ʼ

ʻI donʼt like nobody, nobody likes me.ʼ

ʻThatʼs all your own fault. Anyway, I expect you at three oʼclock in the Entrance Hall.ʼ

Rose turned and stalked away, while Scorpius gaped after her, and Albus bit aggressively in his toast.

They didnʼt talk about this conversation till after lunch.

ʻIʼm going to the library, write to my parents and-ʼ started Scorpius to say.

ʻAgain?ʼ interrupted Albus. ʻYou have already written them a whole novel every day.ʼ

ʻWell,ʼ said Scorpius, slightly sullen, ʻit wouldnʼt harm you if youʼd write too. You havenʼt even answered your first letter. But do you want to go to the library too until you go down to Professor Hagridʼs?ʼ

ʻIʼm not going.ʼ

ʻWouldnʼt he be disappointed?ʼ

ʻHe doesnʼt want to see me anyway now that Iʼm in Slytherin.ʼ

ʻHas he told you so?ʼ

ʻNo.ʼ

ʻYou know, you shouldnʼt be so concentrating on the house. Mumʼs been in Slytherin and her best friend was Hufflepuff. So why should Hagrid dislike you?ʼ

ʻRose does.ʼ

Scorpius glanced over to the Gryffindor table, where Rose chatted with Polly. ʻI think she just dislikes me, thatʼs got nothing to do with you,ʼ he said dejectedly.

ʻDisliking my friends has got something to do with me.ʼ

Scorpius went slightly pink.

ʻIʼll go to Hagridʼs if you go too,ʼ said Albus.

ʻIʼm not invited.ʼ

ʻHagrid surely wonʼt mind.ʼ

ʻRose would.ʼ

ʻNever mind her.ʼ

Scorpius went pinker and rummaged in his school bag. ʻI can go down with you, but I donʼt think Professor Hagrid would like to see me. My father used to be really mean to him.ʼ

ʻYouʼve already said that about Longbottom.ʼ

ʻ I fear Dad used to be mean to a lot of people.ʼ

Albus preferred not to prolong this conversation and in silence they set off to the library for homework and letter writing. Shortly before three oʼclock Albus went reluctantly down to the Entrance Hall, Scorpius following him with increasing nervousness. Rose waited, arms crossed, before the front doors.

ʻHi,ʼ said Scorpius tentatively.

Rose ignored him and turned to Albus. ʻShould we _two_ go down then?ʼ

ʻIʼve invited Scorpius.ʼ

ʻI havenʼt.ʼ

ʻHagridʼs got enough room for us all.ʼ

ʻNever mind, Albus,ʼ whispered Scorpius. ʻIʼll go back to the library.ʼ

ʻNo, you donʼt.ʼ

Albus gripped Scorpiusʼs wrist and dragged him out of the hall. Rose hesitated a second, then followed with a haughty look.

ʻHave you notice that I havenʼt taken anyone with me?ʼ

ʻIf youʼd wanted to bring any of your so called friends I certainly would not accompany you.ʼ

ʻHow can you be so mean to my friends, you donʼt know them!ʼ

ʻIʼve seen enough of them to know that they are rude and cruel. I would have thought better of your understanding than being friends with them. You and your list!ʼ

ʻYou are jealous because you just have that one.ʼ

She nodded derisively towards Scorpius, whose arm Albus still clutched. Full of fury, Albus was on the point of turning around and going back to the castle, when Hagrid walked out from behind his hut and waved at them enthusiastically. Rose overtook them and ran to Hagrid.

ʻHello Rose,ʼ said Hagrid as she reached up to shake his hand. ʻHello Albus, er...ʼ

His black eyes rested wonderingly on Scorpius for some seconds, during which Albus had to really struggle to hinder Scorpius from running away. He cleared his throat. ʻHagrid, this is Scorpius. I asked him to come. You donʼt mind do you?ʼ

Hagrid seemed to hesitate a moment, but then opened the door, beaming again. ʻʼCourse not. Come in, yeh three, come in.ʼ

They entered the small hut and Rose seated herself majestically on one of the chairs. Scorpius was staring instead at a creature that resided on a cot in a corner of the hut. The first part of its body was a giant eagleʼs, but it ended in a horseʼs hind legs and tail. It was staring back at him suspiciously with large, orange eyes, a piece of raw meat before it.

ʻIs this a Hippogriff?ʼ Scorpius whispered to Albus.

ʻYep, thaʼs Buckbeak,ʼ answered Hagrid, making Scorpius jump at having been overheard. ʻBetter donʼ get near, heʼs now quite olʼ and sometimes moody. So I brought ʼim in here, away from the rest oʼ the herd.ʼ

ʻThatʼs the one who ripped your father in pieces,ʼ Rose sneered, looking for the first time at Scorpius.

Scorpius flinched and looked fearfully up at Hagridʼs enormous, wild face, stumbling a step back. But Hagrid looked even more uncomfortable as he put a biscuit box on the table.

ʻIt wasnʼ that bad, was it,ʼ he muttered, looking lovingly over to the Hippogriff.

ʻOh Hagrid, I didnʼt mean to criticize you. His father is to blame, naturally.ʼ

ʻShut up, Rose.ʼ

Albus felt anger well up in him like so often this week. Rose chose to do not answer him, but started to detail her week to Hagrid. Albus dragged Scorpius to the chairs and they both sat down. Scorpius took one of the biscuits and tried to bite in it, but quickly abandoned the project again. Albus, like Rose more experienced with Hagridʼs bakery, sat still and contemplated the grain of the wooden table trying not to listen to Roseʼs effusions about her innumerable successes.

Hagrid got up to place giant mugs of tea before them. Rose ceased talking for a moment to drink, Scorpius tried softening his biscuit by dipping it into the tea and Albus made an effort to smile at Hagrid.

ʻAnʼ how was yer week, Albus?ʼ asked Hagrid before Rose could continue her recital.

ʻDunno. All right.ʼ

ʻAh yes, itʼs always difficult in the beginninʼ. Gettinʼ along in the classes, all the people and everythinʼ new, I remember. Itʼs somethinʼ to swallow.ʼ

ʻLuckily I have Scorpius.ʼ

Scorpius started and looked with wide eyes from his still intact biscuit first to Albus then to Hagrid. Rose continued sipping her tea with a sinister mien. Hagrid turned to Scorpius and frowned slightly.

ʻYehʼre Draco Malfoyʼs son?ʼ

Scorpius nodded shyly, half sinking under the table. Rose gave a half-amused cough and Albus threw her an angry look. Hagrid scratched his head, apparently quite at a loss.

ʻTaught him some years. As yer twoʼs parents.ʼ He nodded to Albus and Rose. ʻYer mother, Iʼm not sure.ʼ

ʻNo sir, she didnʼt take the subject,ʼ Scorpius whispered almost inaudibly.

ʻAh, um, yes.ʼ Hagrid hesitated a moment, staring at Scorpius. ʻWell, Care oʼ Magical Creatures is onʼy up from thirʼ year. Yehʼll take the subject, wonʼ you?ʼ

Beaming, he looked at the three of them, who all nodded with different degrees of vehemence, from Roseʼs determination, to Albusʼs reluctance and Scorpiusʼs nearly invisible, frightened jerk with the head.

Rose got up and smiled at Hagrid. ʻIʼve promised some friends to help them with their homework. So I better get going. You may stay.ʼ She sullenly looked at Albus, shook Hagridʼs hand and was almost immediately gone.

ʻYehʼve not bin quarrelling, have yeh?ʼ Hagrid eyed Albus with a worried expression.

ʻNo. Roseʼs just so arr-... kind of self-assured.ʼ

ʻLike yer brother. Why didnʼ he come with yeh?ʼ

Albus made a face. ʻMum and Dad thought it better if we go separate,ʼ he mumbled, concentrating on staring in his tea as Hagrid chuckled.

The Hippogriff made a screeching noise as it drew its talons over the floor. Scorpius jumped and looked over. Then he seemed to screw up his courage. ʻWhat do Hippogriffs eat, sir?ʼ he said with a small voice, staring timidly up at Hagrid who looked at him for a second in confusion. But then he started to regale them with a long explanation on Hippogriff breeding, his face changing from puzzlement to enthusiasm. Only shortly before dinner and what seemed like enough information to pass their O.W.L.s in Care of Magical Creatures, all three went up to the castle, Scorpius still clutching his biscuit and Albus with a rumbling stomach, having had nothing but tea since lunch.


	2. In the Henhouse

_This scene takes place on Christmas Day after Albusʼs first months at Hogwarts, i.e. during Act One, Scene Four of Cursed Child._

Albus forced the last bit of turkey down his throat and felt his stomach turn. He wasnʼt used to eating so much and he would definitely have eaten less, had his grandmother not continued to give him second and third helpings of everything she had prepared. But his uncomfortably full belly wasnʼt his prime source of discomfort. The presence of two grandparents, mother, father, five uncles, four aunts, brother, sister, nine cousins and Teddy Lupin with his great-aunt caused simply too much noise for Albusʼs ears, especially as the air in the room grew increasingly stuffy. Even worse was the fact that Uncle Ron retold the old story of how he and Albusʼs father once sneaked into the Slytherin common room at Christmas, ending in an elaborate discourse about Slytherin stupidity. Albus almost physically felt James sneering at him. Even Uncle George was more tactful, Albus thought bitterly as he watched Teddy Lupin change his hair from white to red and green for Victoire to comply with her wish for a more Christmassy atmosphere. The only good thing about the noise was that he couldnʼt hear much of Rose, narrating her experiences at school to Aunt Audrey.

ʻAnd how did you get along with the Hovering Charm, Albus?ʼ Aunt Hermione asked suddenly, startling him out of his brooding.

Albus stared at her glumly, then he just shrugged. He had no desire at all to recount how he had failed to make his feather rise into the air, despite Scorpiusʼs extensive help and advice. Albus still didnʼt manage to pronounce the stupid spell properly. Hermioneʼs smile faltered a bit at his refusal to talk. To Albusʼs annoyance she seemed nevertheless determined to make him part of the festivities.

ʻWhat are your favourite classes then?ʼ she asked.

Albus shrugged again, and looked away. Thereby he caught his motherʼs eyes and her expression between worry and reproach made him change his mind. ʻPotions,ʼ he grumbled.

James let out a howl of laughter (that might also have originated in Uncle Georgeʼs ear trumpet playing ʻI Saw Three Ships Come Sailing Inʼ, but Albus didnʼt take this in consideration). Aunt Hermione for her part continued to smile at him. ʻItʼs impressive how out of simple, partly rather revolting ingredients you can produce powerful magical substances isnʼt it?ʼ

Albus nodded and picked a fluff from his new, green jumper. He was almost glad when Rose cleared her throat and started to talk about Quidditch with his father, a theme that was soon taken up by the majority of the Weasley family. Albus wondered whether his parents would notice if he served himself from the Skiving Snackboxes Uncles Ron and George had given him for Christmas before the next family reunion. For the present he had to drown his mind in the very boring effusions of Uncle Percy to his grandfather over the control of Magical transport. Probably he should try to memorize that boring Map to Magical Britain his uncle had given him, then he could concentrate on something during future family reunions, Albus thought dully. He slid his plate away from him, laid his arms on the table and rested his head on them. He felt sick and his head was buzzing painfully from all the talk.

ʻItʼs a bit uncomfortable that Potions is in the dungeons. Itʼs very cold down there in the winter,ʼ said Aunt Hermione.

Albus didnʼt move, only when Lily nudged him, he looked up to see his aunt smiling at him. ʻAt least better than the rest of the castle,ʼ he muttered.

Aunt Hermione looked at him in surprise. ʻWhy are the dungeons better than the rest of the castle?ʼ she asked, sounding thoroughly perplexed.

ʻBecause there are less people asking stupid questions,ʼ he hissed.

ʻAlbus!ʼ

Albus looked over to see his mother glaring at him angrily. He jumped up and threw his chair back so that it clattered on the floor. Half stumbling over it, he rushed out of the kitchen, the laughter of his cousins and calls from his mother and grandmother following. He ran over the snow-covered yard of the Burrow and after a moment of hesitation squeezed himself into the henhouse. The small, shuffling sounds of the sleepy birds as he sat down in the straw were pure relief to his throbbing head and the darkness calmed his eyes. Nobody came looking for him, they were happier without him. Let them be merry, he was happier out here too. He hid his face in his arms and fought back tears, repeating to himself how much better the chicken were than his family.

ʻAlbus?ʼ

Albus started when his mother called for him in the yard. He heard her passing by and remained stubbornly silent while she walked around the house.

ʻWhere has he gone?ʼ Albus heard his father say.

ʻI donʼt know,ʼ his mother responded and Albus felt a bit guilty for the first time as she sounded as if she was sobbing.

ʻ _Homenum revelio_!ʼ Albus shuddered when something like invisible wings brushed over his head. ʻI think heʼs in the henhouse, Ginny,ʼ his father said.

There was silence again. Albus already thought his parents had left and, despite his wish to be alone, he was insulted by their complete lack of interest in him. Suddenly, there was a scratching noise outside. His stomach drooped as he looked at the door.

ʻAlbus? Albus, are you in here?ʼ

He remained silent as his motherʼs voice sounded through the thin wooden wall. He shivered and suddenly noticed how cold it was in the little shed.

ʻAlbus? May I come in?ʼ

Albus didnʼt dare to move an inch when his mother carefully opened the door and slipped in, closing the door behind her. With some effort, she managed to sit down beside Albus and put her arms around him. Albus sniffed, turned to his mother and broke into ragged sobs. She didnʼt say anything, only rocked him gently in her arms, resting her cheek on his head. Only when Albusʼs tears had dried, she let go of him.

ʻBetter?ʼ

Albus shook his head. ʻI hate them,ʼ he muttered.

His mother sighed. ʻHave Uncle Ron and James been tactless? There can be done nothing, there is no chance of improvement. Trust me, I grew up not only with Ron, but Fred and George too. You really need a thicker skin, I know what Iʼm talking about. Grandmama had such trouble with them, a pity you never saw her having a temper.ʼ

Albus shook his head. ʻI donʼt belong with them. Theyʼre all the same, and Iʼm... not.ʼ

ʻAll the same?ʼ His mother couldnʼt help laughing a bit. ʻUncle Percy and Uncle George have not exactly much in common, have they?ʼ

ʻEveryoneʼs Gryffindor,ʼ Albus muttered.

ʻWell,ʼ she said slowly. ʻItʼs true that the core Weasley family has always been in Gryffindor. But youʼre not a Weasley, are you? And not _all_ my cousins were in Gryffindor, and there are quite some Slytherins in my extended family. The Hogwarts houses are not supposed to separate us, only to give us the best surrounding for our comfort.ʼ

ʻEverybody hates me,ʼ whispered Albus.

His mother gulped and tightened her grip around Albus. ʻI donʼt hate you,ʼ she whispered back. ʻWho is everybody?ʼ

ʻRose and her friends, my uncles, James, Dad─ʼ

ʻDad doesnʼt hate you,ʼ she said firmly. ʻHow can you even think so?ʼ

ʻHe... he always looks at me as if... he wasnʼt sure... what I was doing in his house...ʼ

ʻHeʼs just worried because you lost weight and sometimes look so sinister. He wonders whatʼs the matter with you, how he could help you. He loves you very, very much.ʼ

Albus sniffed. His mother started to rock him soothingly again as she spoke on. ʻEven James loves you, although I confess he has a very rude way of showing it. And your uncles are all fond of you, itʼs just the old story about Slytherin. But there have always been - and your uncles know this very well - noble and respectable Slytherins. You certainly have heard of Horace Slughorn. And Iʼm ready to swear that Rose likes you too, she is just very sure that she is doing the right thing and doesnʼt believe in alternatives. Her friends I cannot speak of. But I can tell you this: my first year at Hogwarts was a nightmare.ʼ

Albus looked up at his mother, feeling strangely numb.

ʻI came to Hogwarts,ʼ said his mother, almost like in trance, ʻwith old robes and battered schoolbooks. I was sure all my classmates were laughing behind my back. I felt small, unimportant. Nobody would want to be friends with me, least of all Harry Potter.ʼ She gave Albus a little nudge. ʻMy only friend was an old diary. I wrote all these sorrows down and it wrote back. It was so understanding, so sweet, so compassionate. It never wrote a harsh word to me, it consoled and sympathized. Probably you know who wrote out of that diary?ʼ

Albus was disconcerted at the sudden appeal and hastily racked his brain if he could think of an answer, but then shrugged.

ʻTom Riddle.ʼ

Albus winced and stared up at his mother, his eyes full of disbelief. He had heard of Voldemortʼs Horcruxes and that one of it was a diary that reopened...

ʻHas this to do with the Chamber of Secrets?ʼ he whispered.

ʻI opened the Chamber of Secrets,ʼ said his mother, closing her eyes, while her arms folded tighter around Albus again. ʻI made a Basilisk attack a cat and four Muggle-borns. I lured Harry Potter into the Chamber of Secrets and nearly to his death.ʼ Her breathing had sped up and she needed several seconds to calm down again. ʻProfessor Dumbledore never told the school - and your father too has a knack of telling the story as if I had accidently stumbled into the Chamber - that I was behind the attacks, but I was the one who had been taken down to the Chamber and yet came up alive. There were rumours, there was distrust; and everything of course heightened by my own feelings of guilt. I needed much courage to find friends in my year afterwards. And apart from Neville, who was once considered the greatest loser imaginable, the only close friend I found at last, the only one whom I would trust with my life at any time, was the ultimate freak of the school, an absolute outsider. You donʼt need cool friends, but friends you can rely on. And these you only can truly tell apart when youʼre in trouble. So letʼs hope you never find true friends!ʼ

His mother grinned at Albus through the darkness and he smiled back tentatively. ʻIʼve got Scorpius,ʼ he muttered.

ʻScorpius?ʼ she asked, amazed. ʻMalfoyʼs son?ʼ

Albus winced at her tone and already regretted having told his mother.

She leant closer to him. ʻIʼm glad to hear so,ʼ she said. ʻYou always wrote so little in your letters, I was afraid you were all alone. You know, I read them through so many times and always hoped for some bit of information I might have missed before, anything that showed me how you were getting along. Couldnʼt you write a bit more?ʼ

Albus fidgeted uncomfortably in her embrace. ʻI thought - I thought you wouldnʼt like the idea of... well, Rose said that there were rumours - and I didnʼt want to hear from you─ʼ

ʻThose stupid gossipmongers,ʼ hissed his mother. ʻOnly a fool could believe them. I donʼt know Astoria, she was a year younger than I, I think, but Hannahʼs told me a bit about her. But now, will you tell me about Scorpius?ʼ

Albus looked up at his mother. ʻHe...ʼ started Albus slowly. ʻHeʼs very clever and very shy. And he eats too much.ʼ

His mother laughed out loud. ʻThatʼs why youʼre so thin? No food left after Scorpius.ʼ

Albus had to join in her giggling and they calmed down only when the chicken started to wake up and clicked their beaks indignantly. They remained sitting next to each other in silence and Albus felt his eyelids droop. He leant his head on his motherʼs shoulder and slowly dozed off.

ʻWill you come inside again?ʼ whispered his mother at last, waking Albus out of his drowse.

Albus hesitated. He felt as comfortable as he hadnʼt been for months in the henhouse with his mother, but of course they couldnʼt stay here forever. Yet, he still didnʼt have the least desire to see anybody else inside the Burrow. He leaned his head on his motherʼs shoulder again and pressed his eyes together.

ʻShould I first check whoʼs still there?ʼ she whispered.

Albus nodded and his mother got up and sneaked out of the shed. Without her, the cold became far more prominent. He curled himself into a tight ball and tried to breathe as little as possible. Finally footsteps came back to him. The door was opened a little and his mother smiled down on him.

ʻItʼs okay. They have all gone and Rose is in bed. Itʼs just us, Grandma, Grandpa and Aunt Hermione.ʼ

She held out her hand and Albus heaved himself up. His mother closed the henhouse carefully and waved her wand over Albus, freeing him from feathers, straw and other remains from the henhouse. Then she laid an arm around him and Albus let his mother steer him back into the house.


	3. The Funeral

_This scene takes place over the weekend after the first week of Albusʼs third year at school, depicting the funeral Albus has promised Scorpius to attend, i.e. shortly after the end of Act 1 Scene 4. It_ _ _ʼs a bit too long, but I didn__ _ _ _ʼt manage to elegantly shorten it. If you___ _ _ _ _ʼre interested in Scorpius____ _ _ _ _ _ʼs grief, skip to the next chapter____._

Coming to a halt before an ugly stone gargoyle, Albus looked questioningly at Scorpius, who nodded. ʻBagpipes!ʼ said Albus and the gargoyle sprang to life. It hopped aside and the wall behind split in two. They stepped on a spiral staircase, moving slowly upwards, and were transported in many circles to a gleaming oak door. They looked at each other. Then Albus reached for the brass knocker and rapped on the door.

ʻEnter.ʼ

With a slightly ominous feeling, Albus pushed the door open and they stepped into a large circular room, the walls covered with portraits of former headmasters. Just over the Headmistressʼ chair hung the largest picture, showing an old man with a long silver beard and half-moon spectacles. He was fast asleep.

Albus had seen photographs of his namesake before, but never a picture. For a second, he wished he could talk to him, but Professor McGonagall had already got up from her chair and stepped to an ornate mantelshelf. She held out her hand and a little vase to Scorpius.

ʻIʼm very sorry for your loss. If you would go first...ʼ

Scorpius shook her hand awkwardly, apparently not willing to trust his voice. He took a handful of powder and threw it into the flames in the chimney that turned immediately emerald green. He stepped in, shouted ʻMalfoy Manor!ʼ and was gone.

Much to his discomfort, Albus was now alone with Professor McGonagall. He tentatively reached out for the vase, but she had put it back on the mantelshelf.

ʻMr Potter, I would like a word with you.ʼ

This was what Albus had dreaded during the whole week. He looked down at his feet.

ʻIt is obvious that you are not happy. Is there something I could do for you?ʼ

Albus remained silent.

ʻWe are all very worried. Only yesterday your father wrote to me that Lily complained you wouldnʼt talk to her anymore.ʼ

ʻMy sister wouldnʼt talk to me anymore.ʼ

Professor McGonagall frowned.

ʻI understand that your situation is not easy. You and your friend,ʼ (She nodded towards the chimney) ʻare mostly left alone. The other students taunt you and I am ready to do all in my power to stop this. Yet, I need you to _want_ us to help you. You should really question how much it is your classmatesʼ fault and if it is not sometimes your own behaviour that leads to this seclusion. Most teachers report that you reduce your work to an absolute minimum. I am sure it would be for your teachersʼ, your classmatesʼ and, most of all, for your own benefit if you tried to be more cooperative.ʼ

Albus continued looking at his shoes. She didnʼt understand, she just didnʼt understand. Once, he would have liked to fit in, but he had long realised that he didnʼt. To fit in, he would have to be someone he simply wasnʼt. And there was no point in making that effort, it was painful and of no use. The more he tried, the more he was laughed at. He had absolutely no longing to please people he couldnʼt stand.

ʻYou should join Mr Malfoy. Believe me, Potter, I appreciate how much interest you take in your friendʼs grief. But, please, take also some interest in yourself.ʼ

Albus looked up at Professor McGonagallʼs stern expression. She gave him the smallest shadow of a smile and held out her hand. Albus shook it hesitantly, then took some of the powder. He climbed into the green flames and turned to look at Professor McGonagall.

ʻItʼs Malfoy Manor. Speak clearly,ʼ she said and raised her hand a bit.

Albus nodded, then shouted, ʻMalfoy Manorʼ, taking care not to inhale the ashes.

Before he was sucked through the chimney, he could hear a reedy voice he knew from the drawing room at home, saying, ʻI donʼt know why you make such an effort, Professor. Students _want_ to wallow in their misery...ʼ The rest of the portraitʼs speech was lost to Albus as he started to spin very fast. He closed his eyes. He felt already completely dizzy when he started to slow down, but automatically stretched out his hands as he fell out of the chimney.

ʻFinally! I was already worried you got lost,ʼ shouted Scorpius and leapt to his side to help him up.

ʻMcGonagall held me back to tell me off,ʼ said Albus as he looked around. He was in a large, sinister drawing room with several groups of costly furniture and portraits of pale wizards and witches on the purple walls who eyed him critically. Albus gulped and looked back to the marble fireplace, noticing a huge mirror hanging over it. He saw his uncomfortableness reflected in his face.

ʻFather had to go again to prepare the funeral, but I am to show you to your room. Then we go down at eleven, over to our chapel.ʼ

ʻYouʼve got a chapel of your own?ʼ asked Albus, distracted by this bit of information.

ʻYes, well, the house is quite old. But the ceremony will be led like usual by a member of the Ministry.ʼ

Scorpius watched Albus, unsure.

ʻShould we go?ʼ

ʻI sʼpose.ʼ

Scorpius showed him up a broad staircase, then through a long corridor. Alongside it, there were many glass cases with different objects in them, among others several skulls, some daggers and a withered hand. Scorpius hopped all the way ahead, grinning back at his friend. Albus wondered at his friendʼs sudden cheerfulness while his own feelings, combined with the magnificent, cold house, grew steadily creepier. Finally, Scorpius stopped before one door.

ʻThis is my room,ʼ he said. ʻDo you need a proper robe from me?ʼ

ʻI... em, I didnʼt take anything else but my school robes...ʼ Albus went red, he had not thought about the necessity of dressing properly for a funeral.

Scorpius went into his room, Albus followed. The room was large, though not looking much inhabited. It contained few pieces of furniture, all made of dark, heavy, expensive looking wood, the walls covered in light grey velvet. The gloominess of the room was broken only by the bedstead in black and white on which a bird was pictured, beating its wings energetically.

ʻSince when do you support the Montrose Magpies?ʼ asked Albus, looking reproachfully at Scorpius.

ʻItʼs Dadʼs favourite team,ʼ said Scorpius, going slightly pink, before he quickly turned his back on Albus and crossed the room to his wardrobe.

Albus looked around in the room more carefully. The only personal belongings visible were large piles of books all over the floor so that narrow paths formed between them, and a pin-board on which several photographs were fixed. Albus carefully rounded the books and went nearer. They all showed people who had to be Scorpiusʼs family. Among them one showed a small woman with a baby, smiling happily; the same woman and a man Albus recognised as Scorpiusʼs father swung a little boy to and fro; the couple and an older couple with the woman holding the boy on her lap sat stiffly in the drawing room where Albus had just dropped out of the chimney; the young woman, looking worn out despite her smiles, embraced an eleven years old Scorpius in his Hogwarts robes.

Albus felt tears rising in his eyes as he looked at a picture that must have been taken at the marriage of Scorpiusʼs parents. Feeling suddenly ashamed to intrude in Scorpiusʼs privacy, Albus looked around. Scorpius just closed the wardrobe and Albus wanted to quickly go back to the door, but tripped into a pile of books. He bent down to put them back in order and when he straightened up, Scorpius thrust him a robe into his hands. Albus scrutinized the piece of clothing that, like the rest of the house, felt very expensive and cold. He looked up at Scorpius, embarrassed. However, Scorpius didnʼt pay him attention, but contemplated the photographs, his cheery expression crumbling.

ʻThis is me,ʼ he said unnecessarily and pointed at all the little boys. ʻThis is Mum,ʼ he added, pointing at the young woman, ʻand Dad.ʼ He pointed at the man. He then indicated the older couple. ʻThese are my grandparents. Grandfather died a few years ago and Grandmother... well, ever since he died, sheʼs become a bit strange.ʼ

During Scorpiusʼs explanation, Albus noticed that the half of the pin-board that was not occupied by the family photographs was full of extracts from the Daily Prophet, all concerning the new Minister for Magic, many of them still dating back to her time in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Scorpius followed Albusʼs gaze and turned slightly pink.

ʻIʼll show you your room,ʼ he muttered and skilfully made his way around the books to the door. Albus followed more clumsily.

Scorpius went to the end of the corridor and opened the last door.

ʻYou can sleep here,ʼ he said. ʻThe bathroom is through this door.ʼ He pointed at a door on the right side of the room, that was a bit smaller than Scorpiusʼs and contained but a bed and a wardrobe.

ʻIʼll be back in ten minutes. Okay?ʼ

Left alone, Albus wavered a moment, then crossed the room and went into the bathroom. A candle flickered to light as he opened the door. Albus turned the tap and let cold water run over his face. The house was frighteningly depressive. Its largeness weighed heavily on him and Albus wondered why the house so affected his spirits. His own home showed traces of a dark, gloomy past, after all. He had to grin a second, thinking of the portrait of the earlier owner of the house with which James had frightened him when they were younger. And later, they would always try to run as fast as possible through the hall without waking her.

But signs of cheerfulness that could be found all over Grimmauld Place were - apart probably from Scorpiusʼs bedspread - lacking in Malfoy Manor. Albus went over to the bed and put on the robes Scorpius had given him. He sat down on the edge of the bed and shivered although it was not at all cold.

Someone knocked on his door.

Albus froze, staring at it, nausea rising in him.

ʻAre you all right? Can I come in?ʼ came Scorpiusʼs voice from outside.

Albus had to laugh out loud at his sudden, pointless panic. He leaped to the door and ripped it open, relief flooding through him as he nearly ran Scorpius over. Scorpius looked at him, his red eyes slightly puzzled.

ʻEm, do you want to meet Grandmother?ʼ

Albus did not really know whether he wanted to meet that grandmother and in want of a better answer inclined his head non-committally. Scorpius led him over several flights of stairs through more deserted corridors, alway past glass cases, containing curious objects.

ʻScorpius?ʼ

ʻMmh?ʼ

ʻWhat are these things inside the cases?ʼ

Scorpius halted before one of them, a magnificent necklace of opals.

ʻTheyʼre just magical objects Father collects. Some of them are quite dangerous I think. But he always informs the Ministry what heʼs bought. And he lends it to museums.ʼ

ʻWhat kind of museums?ʼ

ʻJust the usual museums like the Museum of Magical History in Diagon Alley, or the Severus Snape Museum of Potions in Cokeworth. This necklace for example was used in an attempt to murder Albus Dumbledore.ʼ

Albus, who had reddened when he internally admitted that he had absolutely no knowledge of magical museums, was disconcerted by this last bit of information. ʻWho tried to murder Dumbledore?ʼ

Scorpius went very pink and bit his lip.

ʻWhat?ʼ

Scorpius pointed at the necklace, then to the ground, and made what he might have intended to be a significant cough. Albus looked helplessly at him until Scorpius finally muttered something.

ʻDacklefey?ʼ

ʻNo,ʼ whispered Scorpius, getting pinker, ʻDraco Malfoy.ʼ

ʻYour father?ʼ

ʻShh.ʼ

ʻOh, sorry,ʼ whispered Albus, turning himself red. He looked at the object again, shuddering internally at the strangeness of the situation, to stand before a device that had been intended to kill the man after whom he was named. He was very glad when Scorpius turned and hastened further down the corridor.

At last, he stopped before a double door.

ʻThis is the library, Grandmother should be in here. Itʼs now nearly eleven, we can go down together.ʼ Scorpius laid his hand on the door knob, but hesitated. ʻItʼs probably better if you wait outside. I donʼt know how she is at the moment.ʼ

He knocked, opened the door and stepped in. Albus saw into a high, bright room with shelves full of books on the walls that reached to the ceiling. Slightly dizzy, he let his eyes wander from the ceiling to the floor and they fell an armchair before the fire place just opposite from where he stood.

Scorpius slowly approached the armchair and sat down on a side support. A very skinny arm emerged and closed around Scorpius, drawing him closer, so that Albus could only see his friendʼs legs.

ʻScorpius,ʼ said a womanʼs voice, sounding as brittle as her arm looked, ʻwhy are you not at school? Itʼs September, isnʼt it?ʼ

ʻYes, Grandmother. I just came back for the funeral.ʼ

There was a momentary silence as if the information had confused her. Albus noticed to his own surprise that he was trembling as he leaned against the doorpost and watched the scene before him.

ʻGrandmother,ʼ Albus heard Scorpius say again, sounding muffled. ʻAre you - I brought my friend Albus from school. Would you like to meet him?ʼ

Albus held his breath and watched the chair from where the voices came, the irrational dread gripping him more and more.

ʻAlbus?ʼ the womanʼs voice asked, sounding confused, half frightened, half angry.

ʻHeʼs in my year, Grandmother. I told you about him, donʼt you remember?ʼ

The silence lengthened and Albus felt his hands getting sweaty. But then Scorpiusʼs legs wriggled and the rest of him appeared out of the armchair. He beckoned Albus nearer. Cautiously, Albus set one foot before the other, scared to make a noise. Scorpius got to his feet when Albus reached the back of the chair. Slowly, Albus edged to his friendʼs side and looked down on the woman in the chair.

Scorpiusʼs grandmother was extremely thin and would have conveniently fitted twice in the chair. Her white hair fell down to her waist, her pale face was wrinkled, making her look as if several cobwebs lay over it. Her blue eyes were sunken, but she sat very upright. Albus thought she looked ancient, far older than on the photograph in Scorpiusʼs room. He could imagine no stronger contrast with his own grandmother, the embodiment of hospitality, warmth and liveliness.

As he stood before her, the woman slowly lifted her gaze and scrutinized him. Her expression wavered in an eerie fashion between aversion, fright, haughtiness and guilt.

ʻSo,ʼ she finally said in a hushed voice. ʻYouʼre Albus Potter...ʼ The silence after she had spoken felt icier than before, making Albus shiver. Only after a long pause, the womanʼs lips parted into a thin smile and she gave him her hand. Albus flinched as her cold, skeletal fingers closed around his hand and she continued staring in his face. As she didnʼt let go, Albus started to shake, his eyes watering from her steady gaze that more and more didnʼt appear to see him.

ʻAre you all right, Grandmother?ʼ asked Scorpius finally, having sat down on the floor next to his grandmotherʼs knees. Slowly, she turned her head and looked down at Scorpius. Quite as slowly, she let go of Albusʼs hand who staggered back, relief flooding through him, and she laid her hand on Scorpiusʼs head, a warm smile spreading across her face that made her look younger again, even beautiful.

ʻShould we go down, Grandmother?ʼ

ʻDown?ʼ she repeated tonelessly, her face falling.

ʻFor the funeral,ʼ explained Scorpius, taking her hand.

His grandmother looked puzzled for a moment, but imitated Scorpius as he got to his feet, Albus retreating several steps. Scorpius took her by the hand and led her down, Albus following, the feeling of drowning in the sinister magnitude of the place never leaving him. After what appeared to Albus an endless journey, they came down to the hall where Scorpiusʼs father stood waiting for them. Like his mother, he seemed to have aged much not only since the pictures in Scorpiusʼs room had been taken, but also since the beginning of the summer when he had waited on platform nine and three-quarters next to Albusʼs mother. If Albus hadnʼt known it to be impossible, he would have thought him to be the grandfather from Scorpiusʼs photograph. His hollow expression didnʼt change as he watched his son and mother approach with Albus trailing behind. When they reached him, he turned and strode out of the house without saying a word.

Walking over the grounds in a wide circle around a pond, Albus felt lighter again and was starting to feel calm when they reached the left side of the manor. There was a small chapel built to the house and a group of people had congregated before it.

Albus didnʼt know any of the other funeral guests, but preferred to stay behind among them and not to walk ahead with the proper family. Some of his disquiet returned as he watched a sallow, young man with black hair approaching him.

ʻWhat are you doing here, Albus?ʼ

Amazed, Albus looked up at the stranger. But as he opened his mouth to ask the man who he was, he had to grin. He knew the man very well though he had admittedly never seen Teddy Lupin looking so depressive before.

ʻTeddy, what are you doing - I mean, Iʼm a friend of Scorpiusʼs. Why are you here?ʼ

ʻMy Grandma is Narcissa Malfoyʼs sister, didnʼt you know?ʼ

Albus shook his head.

ʻWell, Iʼm not very tight with Grandmaʼs family. You see, her other sister killed my mother.ʼ

ʻIʼve heard of that.ʼ

ʻGrandmaʼs over there,ʼ said Teddy, indicating a woman who just then turned so that Albus could recognize her. She held herself very upright too, he noticed as he returned her smile. Meanwhile, Teddy let his eyes wander over the assembled people and lowered his voice so that only Albus could hear him. ʻShe thinks I should come to the funerals. No idea why, they canʼt stand me. And then Grandma told me off last time because my hair was turquoise. Donʼt ask me why I should have mourned Lucius Malfoy but you see, today I listened to my grandmother.ʼ He made his black hair curl before it fell flat again around his face. Albus grinned, feeling far lighter than ever since he had come into the house. At this moment the other guests moved towards the chapel and Teddyʼs grandmother gave them a warning glance. Together they entered and walked past a coffin, made of massive ebony.

Scorpius was sitting between his father and grandmother in the first row together with what Albus supposed to be the parents and a sister of the deceased. He was glad for Teddy's presence and followed him to the last bench to sit down.

As Albus had feared, the whole ceremony was very sinister. A little, official looking wizard gave a speech and seemed to function like a parson at a Muggle funeral as Albus remembered from the funeral of his fatherʼs aunt years ago.

Then the Ministry wizard raised his wand and the coffin floated slowly down into a crypt. There was a shuffling of feet and everybody got up and headed out of the chapel. Albus kept close to Teddy and thus soon found himself at a large table full of food that had been placed on the lawn. A little house-elf was running around, seating people, handing food and drinks, tears in her huge, dark eyes. Unsure, Albus remained on his feet, but Scorpius drew out the chair next to him and beckoned to Albus. Teddy sat down on his other side.

Albus found the lunch even more depressing than the preceding ceremony. At the other end of the table the mother of the dead tried to make conversation, but she had mostly to rely on her daughter and a Mr Nott Albus didnʼt know. Neither Scorpius nor his father said anything. Scorpiusʼs grandmother stared serenely into nothingness, her sister next to her spent most of the time looking half disapprovingly, half amused at Teddy and his steadily brightening hair. Scorpius squeezed the bits of cheese on his plate one by one into an unappetizing mash while tears ran down his face. His father didnʼt eat at all, but seemed to have turned into a statue.

Albus was very glad, when everybody got up and a lot of hands were shaken. The woman Albus considered Scorpiusʼs aunt went over to Scorpius and his father. She bent down and kissed Scorpius before she straightened up, glaring at her brother-in-law. Wordlessly, she turned on her heel and hastened away.

Albus stared curiously after her when Teddy, his hair a bright blue, clapped him on the back.

ʻSee you at Christmas, Al.ʼ

ʻSee you,ʼ Albus muttered, the old feeling of depression quickly returning as the guests left one after the other.

Scorpius led him up to his room again and left. Albus sat down on the bed feeling hollow and cold. It was in the middle of the afternoon and yet, judging from the atmosphere, it could have been in the middle of the night, everything was silent. It was an extreme opposite to his home, where there was always noise and chaos caused by his siblings. He didnʼt like that mess either, but it didnʼt freeze him to the spot like this house. He laid down, exhausted as if he had to carry a massive weight. But with his head buried in a cushion, the weight increased and he had to gulp for air, panicking as if about to suffocate. He stumbled to his feet and hurried to the window, trying to open it with trembling fingers. After some very long seconds he could throw the window open and breath the clear air from the outside. He sat down on the windowsill and looked out into the grounds, a smooth lawn before him, tall hedges around the estate and above it the clear, blue sky. A white, large bird Albus identified after some consideration as a peacock calmly strolled over the lawn, here and there stooping down and pecking. The outside was peaceful, alive and by staring out at it, Albus forgot the menacing manor and its silent, gaunt inhabitants.

He didnʼt know how long he had been sitting on the windowsill when a knock on his door made him look around. He wasnʼt frightened now, but felt far more serene than he had for a long time.

ʻYes?ʼ

Scorpius opened the door a bit, some cardboard boxes in his arms. ʻCan I come in?ʼ

ʻSure. Itʼs your house.ʼ

Scorpius smiled dejectedly as he edged into the room. ʻIʼm sorry Iʼm being such a bad host,ʼ he croaked, his eyes still red. ʻI mean - there isnʼt much we could do here. So I thought if you wanted to play Gobstones or chess... unless you want a game of Quidditch.ʼ With a shadow of an ironic grin, Scorpius motioned to the open window.

ʻEm, thanks,ʼ said Albus. ʻI get along, you donʼt have to entertain me, I know youʼre not in the mood.ʼ

Scorpius smiled weakly. ʻI canʼt cry the whole day. So, if you donʼt mind spending time with me, we can as well...ʼ Scorpius indicated the boxes he carried.

Albus gulped. ʻOkay, letʼs try Gobstones then.ʼ

They played Gobstones at the window till the evening when Scorpius suggested they should go down to dinner which proved as depressive as every other thing in the house. The grandmother didnʼt join them, the father sat in the same immobile manner in his chair as after the funeral. Only Scorpius seemed willing to make an effort and tried to eat, speaking to Albus about their History of Magic essay. Thankful, Albus feigned for the first time in his life interest in medieval wizarding conventions while the house-elf served them, her large eyes still full of tears. He would never have thought that he would so much yearn for Hogwarts, only wanting to escape the sinister mood of Malfoy Manor. The next afternoon couldnʼt come soon enough.


	4. After the Lesson

_This scene takes place in the week after the preceding chapter. I wrote it just recently, later than anything else here, because - well, I missed Hagrid._

ʻScorpius, stop shaking, youʼre going to crush that Flobberworm!ʼ scolded Albus.

They were sitting on the lawn before Hagridʼs cabin with the rest of their class, supposed to observe Flobberworms because - as Albusʼs Aunt Hermione had recently put it - Hagrid was growing old, he kept to the curriculum. So they stared down at a couple of slimy worms, every now and then shovelling a piece of salad down their throats, and feeling bored.

At least Albus did, Scorpius had been sitting motionlessly for over a quarter of an hour until Hagrid had told him to give a bit of lettuce to a worm. And this worm now hung from a leaf while Scorpiusʼs hand shook uncontrollably, thrashing the worm around the box.

Albus gripped Scorpiusʼs wrist and tried to prise his fingers from the leaf, ripping it apart in the progress. The Flobberworm fell to the bottom of the box and calmly resumed its slow wanderings.

ʻWhatʼs the matter?ʼ said Albus, shaking his friend who only averted his face.

ʻIʼm...ʼ whispered Scorpius to some point on the ground, rubbing the rest of the leaf between his fingers so that they turned green. ʻI... I just... Iʼll be right back.ʼ

Scorpius freed his wrist from Albusʼs grip and jumped to his feet, almost running away to disappear behind Hagridʼs hut.

ʻThe salad is in the bucket on me threshold,ʼ said Hagrid, striding over to Albus. ʻOr where did Scorpius go?ʼ

Albus shrugged. ʻI donʼt know. Itʼs his mum, I think.ʼ

Hagrid looked over to the corner which Scorpius had just rounded. ʻHe mighʼ need a moment fer himself. Howʼs yer Flobberworms?ʼ

Hagrid bent down and contemplated the worms that prospered now that they were left alone. Slowly, he shook his head and straightened up, looking towards the castle for a moment.

ʻAre you alright, Hagrid?ʼ asked Albus.

Hagrid looked down at him with his eyes glistening and smiled. ʻHogwartsʼs bin my home fer so long. But still...ʼ

He shook his head again and walked over to the next group of students, dozing at their Flobberworms.

The lesson went on for quite a while, mainly due to the fact that there was nothing to do. At the end, the only good things were the announcement that there wouldnʼt be any homework and that they would start with fire salamanders next lesson.

The class quickly dissolved either going up to the castle or towards the lake to savour the last rays of the sun before dinner. Albus hesitated, looking around for Scorpius, while Hagrid collected the boxes with the Flobberworms. Slowly, Albus walked around Hagridʼs hut to the pumpkin patch. First, he couldnʼt see Scorpius anywhere and wanted to proceed. He would have overlooked the little form in the shadow of the hutʼs backdoor had Scorpius not been shaking violently.

ʻScorpius?ʼ said Albus, remaining a few steps away from him. ʻThe class is over.ʼ

Scorpius showed no reaction and Albus looked helplessly around. He wanted to go away, but knew that he would never pardon himself if he did so. And yet, he had no idea what he could do. To his utmost relief, Hagrid then rounded the corner, balancing the boxes.

ʻHagrid...ʼ said Albus and pointed at Scorpius.

ʻA momenʼ!ʼ Hagrid called and walked over to Albus to look down at Scorpius too.

ʻScorpius?ʼ he asked. ʻCould yeh move, I keep the Flobberworms here.ʼ

Scorpius shuddered and looked up at them with grotesquely wide eyes. He blinked a couple of times and jerked his head, then he crawled out from his hidey-hole, sitting down on the backdoorʼs threshold instead.

Hagrid walked past him, and carefully set down his boxes. When he had checked whether they were stably installed, he turned his bushy head to Scorpius. ʻDʼyeh want a cup oʼ tea?ʼ

ʻNo, thank you,ʼ replied Scorpius, a bit too late and with an unusually high-pitched voice.

ʻBuʼ sit down inside,ʼ insisted Hagrid. ʻItʼs too cold ter sit here.ʼ

Scorpius stared up at Hagrid, not looking as if he had comprehended anything from Hagridʼs speech. Decidedly, Hagrid bent down, lifting Scorpius to his feet by the shoulder. Scorpius swayed on the spot and - if Hagrid had not still held him - would have fallen on the ground. Albus hastily stepped around them and opened the backdoor, entering first and seating himself at the table. Hagrid forced Scorpius into the chair next to Albus before he went over to the fireplace to make tea.

Albus watched Hagrid as he put the kettle on the fire, avoiding to glance at Scorpius who didnʼt move, his eyes still too large and blank.

ʻYeh need somethinʼ hot after sittinʼ on the ground so lonʼ,ʼ said Hagrid imperatively when he returned with three steaming mugs of tea. ʻI know itʼs hard, but yehʼll be alright. I know.ʼ

Scorpius blinked and his eyes fixed on Hagrid for a moment before a convulsive movement went through his whole body and he hid his head in his arms, shaking worse than ever.

Hagrid bent forward as if to pat Scorpius on the back, but decided otherwise - much to Albusʼs relief for he doubted whether Scorpiusʼs head would have survived the confrontation with the table - and leant back again.

ʻI felt like that when me Dad died,ʼ said Hagrid softly. ʻI was at school at the time anʼ was not suspectinʼ the least. Dumbledore came to tell me, great man, Dumbledore.ʼ Hagrid nodded to himself. ʻMe Dad, my only family. My Mum had left long ago then... I really didnʼ...ʼ

Scorpiusʼs head jerked up and he stared for a moment at Hagrid. Then he shook his head violently. ʻItʼs my fault.ʼ

ʻʼCourse it isnʼ!ʼ exclaimed Hagrid, exchanging a shocked look with Albus. ʻItʼs no oneʼs fault, donʼ blame yerself.ʼ

Scorpius shook his head again. ʻBut it is,ʼ he whispered. ʻI heard - I once heard my aunt - she told Dad that - Mum shouldnʼt have had me - that sheʼd die of it. She was really angry.ʼ

ʻShe was angry with yeh?ʼ said Hagrid in disbelief while Scorpius hid his face again.

ʻNo,ʼ sobbed Scorpius. ʻShe was angry with Dad, but itʼs the same isnʼt it?ʼ

ʻWhat did yer mother die of?ʼ asked Hagrid after a momentʼs deliberation.

ʻI... Iʼm not sure. She suffocated. I think.ʼ

ʻShe suffocated?ʼ

ʻItʼs what she said,ʼ moaned Scorpius. ʻThat the blanket was crushing her, that her clothes were too heavy. And yet, she always felt co- c- cold...ʼ

ʻDid she need ter suffer long?ʼ asked Hagrid, wiping his eyes.

ʻFor years.ʼ

Albus silently watched as Hagrid got up and rummaged in a drawer until he found what he was looking for.

ʻHere,ʼ Hagrid said to Scorpius, handing a large piece of linen to him.

Scorpius hiccoughed and looked up at the fabric. ʻWhatʼs with the tablecloth?ʼ he asked weakly.

ʻEm,ʼ said Hagrid. ʻThatʼs a handkerchief.ʼ

Scorpius stared for a moment at the corner of the fabric he was holding and then slowly wiped his face with it. ʻHow-ʼ He had to clear his throat because his voice threatened to crack. ʻHow old were you when he died?ʼ

ʻMy Dad?ʼ said Hagrid, perplexed. Scorpius nodded. ʻA few weeks before me thirteenth birthday. In the beginninʼ of my second year.ʼ

ʻI─ʼ Scorpius hiccoughed. ʻIʼm sorry. Youʼve never told me before.ʼ

ʻItʼs lonʼ ago,ʼ said Hagrid. ʻThe good ones die younʼ, like yehr parents, Har- sorry, Albus, like yer grandparents. Wonderful people, itʼs...ʼ Hagrid shook his head again while Scorpius let out another sob.

ʻYeh were there when yer mother died?ʼ Hagrid said softly when Scorpius had quieted down a bit.

Scorpius nodded.

ʻAt least yeh could say good-bye.ʼ

Scorpius hid his face in the table-cloth sized handkerchief again.

Hagrid contemplated what was visible from Scorpiusʼs head. Albus hardly dared to breathe in the ensuing silence.

ʻI could...ʼ said Scorpius at last with his voice muffled by the handkerchief. ʻI could see the Thestrals.ʼ He gave an involuntary jerk of his head. ʻIs it true that they hunt and eat those guilty of murder?ʼ

ʻNah,ʼ answered Hagrid immediately. ʻThaʼʼs just one of these horror stories yeh tell to little children. Thestrals are very interestinʼ, useful creatures.ʼ

ʻI thought,ʼ gulped Scorpius while Albus shuddered at the idea of the beasts, ʻthat they might attack me when we walked towards the carriages. But they just remained standing.ʼ

ʻOʼ course they did,ʼ said Hagrid. ʻI trained them after all. Buʼ stop blaminʼ yerself, yer Mumʼs malady canʼ have had anythinʼ to do with yeh.ʼ

ʻBut Aunt Daphne said so.ʼ

ʻYeh said yerself she was angry with yer father, she must have bin exaggeratinʼ.ʼ

Hagrid sighed as Scorpius eyed him with a thoroughly unconvinced expression while tears still flooded over his face and he lifted the handkerchief up to cover his face again. Albus shrugged when Hagrid looked helplessly over to him. But then, he seemed to have had an idea for his face suddenly lightened up.

ʻWould yeh like to meet the Thestrals?ʼ he asked with a Father Christmassy smile.

Slowly, Scorpius let the handkerchief sink. Albus was on the point of telling Hagrid that no one in his right senses would wish to see such things when to his utmost astonishment Scorpius nodded and even weakly attempted to smile.

ʻCome on then,ʼ said Hagrid happily, jumping to his feet. I got some smaller animals hanginʼ behind the house. They wonʼ say no to a little snack.ʼ

Scorpius hesitated a moment, but then wrapped the unused part of the handkerchief around himself, got up and followed Hagrid out of the hut. Albus remained sitting, his fear of the Thestrals fighting violently with his curiosity and his unwillingness to be left behind. At last, he ran out of the hut, colliding with Hagrid who had just wanted to check on him, wearing a large sack.

ʻHere yeh are,ʼ he beamed. ʻLeʼʼs go then, just a few feet inter the forest.ʼ

Albus followed warily behind Hagrid and Scorpius, who kept tripping over his handkerchief. Albus was starting to really worry as they marched further and further into the forest, but after about ten minutes Hagrid came to a halt and put the sack on the ground.

ʻIʼll call ʼem,ʼ he said cheerfully. ʻSo that they know itʼs me.ʼ He leant back his head and let out a loud, hawklike shriek.

Albus tried to hide his discomfort as he carefully placed himself beside Scorpius, keeping his eyes anxiously on Hagrid after assuring himself that his friend had stopped crying but looked nervous and fascinated.

Hagrid had just called three times when Scorpius next to him gasped. Albus looked over to him and saw Scorpius staring into the trees.

ʻHereʼs the firsʼ one,ʼ exclaimed Hagrid merrily, opening the sack and taking out a dead chicken. ʻCatch, Torvus!ʼ

He threw the animal towards the trees, but itʼs fall was stopped in mid-air. The chicken was lifted up again and then it was gone.

Albus stumbled back a step and almost fell over a root so that he had to grasp the nearest tree trunk in the same time as Scorpius made a step forwards.

ʻTorvus?ʼ he asked shyly.

ʻHeʼs the eldest now,ʼ said Hagrid proudly. ʻThe lasʼ one oʼ the first generation born at Hogwarts. And here comes Atra.ʼ

Hagrid extended a dead ferret away from him. Albus saw something pull, the ferret slipped through Hagridʼs fingers and then it was gone. Albus looked around him, unable to fight his fear. Still, he considered Hagrid to form some small promise of safety, so he left the tree and approached his friends.

He watched in silence as Hagrid put a dead hare into Scorpiusʼs hands and pushed him forwards. While the hare was ripped into pieces by nothing, Scorpius patted the air, smiling.

ʻWhatʼs this oneʼs name, Hagrid?ʼ he asked.

ʻThaʼʼs Skotaia, the oldest female.ʼ Hagrid beamed down at Scorpius. ʻItʼs quite an honour she lets yeh feed her, she can be very suspicious.ʼ

Albus watched Scorpius caressing thin air with an affectionate expression while the blood of the hare dropped to the forest floor and onto the white fabric of the handkerchief.

ʻAlbus, yeh want ter feed ʼem too?ʼ asked Hagrid with a big smile, extending a dead ferret.

Albus shook his head before he even thought about it and made a step back. When Hagrid turned to throw the ferret into the air where it disappeared, Albus half regretted his reaction even though he didnʼt dare to draw nearer again.

Standing several feet behind his friends, Albus could hardly wait for the end of the feeding, a sigh of relief escaping him when Hagrid folded the empty sack.

ʻYeh need ter get up to the castle again,ʼ he said. ʻOtherwise yehʼll miss dinner. Dʼyeh have a lot of homework?ʼ

Scorpius shook his head. ʻJust Transfiguration.ʼ

ʻYou forget Binnsʼs essay,ʼ said Albus as they started to walk back the way they had come.

ʻBut havenʼt you done it yet?ʼ asked Scorpius, turning to Albus. ʻWe have had it on for three days.ʼ

Albus rolled his eyes and - with the History of Magic essay on his mind - felt suddenly far less inclined to leave the forest. But as neither Hagrid nor Scorpius turned, he had to brood alone over this new notion.


	5. At the Ministry

_This is an extension to Act One Scene Five, setting in shortly before Hermione leaves Harryʼs office. I wrote it primarily for Ronʼs dignity._

ʻHermione!ʼ called Harry, a suspicion springing to his mind. ʻTheodore Nottʼs father was a Death Eater.ʼ

ʻI know,ʼ said Hermione, pausing in the doorway. ʻWe all know. Why?ʼ

ʻWell...ʼ said Harry, hesitating because he anticipated Hermioneʼs reprimand. ʻItʼs just - Teddy told me about a year ago - Theodore Nott was at the funeral of Malfoyʼs wife. As he was at Lucius Malfoyʼs funeral. And we both know, there are some really dark objects hidden in Malfoy Manor─ʼ

ʻThey are not hidden,ʼ interjected Hermione sharply. ʻIʼve seen them all. Draco just likes collecting such stuff. It might be a creepy pastime, but I am ready to vouch for his not planning anything illegal. Otherwise, he would hardly allow the Ministry in his house for regular inspections. The last time I was there, he even assured me that his library was open to me.ʼ She pointed to the two piles of parchment, detailing the recent, disquieting developments. ʻI am certain Draco Malfoyʼs got nothing to do with all this.ʼ

ʻAre you?ʼ said Harry, disproportionate anger overcoming him. ʻRose isnʼt hanging out with Malfoy 2.0 either.ʼ

ʻHarry,ʼ said Hermione, her voice softer. ʻDonʼt mix the trouble you have with Albus with our problems at the Ministry. And believe me, neither is connected with Draco. Study your parchments and then act accordingly. But first, go home and talk with Albus. That is a problem concerning the two of you. Trust me.ʼ

Harry looked stubbornly back at her. Hermione very demonstratively rolled her eyes and stepped out of the room.

As the door closed behind her, Harry looked around in his office. He snatched up the photograph of his family from his desk. It was only about five years old and Albus was freely laughing and winking up at him, looking healthy and full of joy. He had always got along well with Albus. Albus had trusted him. He remembered Albusʼs eyes, so much like his own, when he had told him about his fear of being put into Slytherin. And the next thing Ginny and he heard was James gleefully announcing that Albus had been sorted into Slytherin.

He had waited for news from Albus with increasing worry and when finally a letter came, it contained nearly nothing. Albus didnʼt give them any personal information, only short, uninformative descriptions of his lessons. After Christmas, Ginny had received longer letters, but she had never allowed him to see them. She had promised Albus. The mortification he had felt on hearing this still hurt. His son didnʼt trust him anymore. He also recalled the disquietude that came over him when James had told them that to the whole schoolʼs amusement Albusʼs sole friend was Voldemortʼs child. Of course, it was not this ridiculous rumour that caused his unease. James didnʼt take it serious either, he just thought it funny. But still, Scorpius Malfoy was Draco Malfoyʼs son. And Albusʼs change towards him coincided with his meeting with the little Malfoy. So there was still the question, how did that boy make Albus distrust his father? How did he bind Albus to himself and alienate him from his family. And most importantly, why? What were the Malfoys up to?

He put the photograph back, and bitterly imagined the reproaches Hermione would make him if she knew his line of thought. Somehow, Malfoy had managed to charm her too. That was not only disturbing, but also frightening. She was the Minister of Magic and sympathized with a wizard whose fascination with the Dark Arts was widely known. Her words flooded back to him, ʻhis library was open to me.ʼ Harry laughed humourlessly. Malfoy was really a most skilled briber to suggest this to Hermione, immediately making her believe him the most honest man in the world. Harry sighed. Though the evidence was on his side, it was no good arguing, Hermione was his superior. He put his rucksack on his back and looked around the office to the two piles of parchment that waited to be read.

He had already his hand outstretched to turn the handle when his office door was wrenched open and Harry needed to jump aside to avoid colliding with his best friend.

ʻYouʼre going home?ʼ Ron asked brightly.

ʻI wanted to. Are you here for Hermione or...ʼ

ʻActually,ʼ said Ron, ʻI wanted to introduce you to Weasleysʼ Wizarding Wheezes most recent developments, but if youʼre─ʼ

ʻAs long as itʼs not pink beards again or bald heads with orange dots,ʼ said Harry and returned to the chair behind his desk while Ron took the seat opposite.

ʻItʼs not my fault that some of your Aurors have very special tastes,ʼ said Ron while he put four boxes on the table and withdrew several flasks from one. ʻThese we developed for the joke shop, for you, we have developed less conspicuous variants.ʼ

ʻSorry,ʼ muttered Harry. ʻI know. Iʼm just in a bad mood right now. Never mind. What do you have today?ʼ

ʻEye tincture! A few drops into the eye and it immediately changes colour. It doesnʼt last that long, depending on how much you take. Would you like yellow eyes with a star-shaped pupil?ʼ

ʻSounds great,ʼ said Harry, brightening up a little as he looked at the tiny flasks before him. ʻI suggest you present them at our next Auror meeting. Have you used them already?ʼ

Ron smiled triumphantly. ʻFalse beard and eyes and you hear quite some unexpected news. How did it go with Theodore Nott?ʼ

ʻExcellent,ʼ said Harry, grinning. ʻYouʼre our most successful under-cover agent by far. Congratulation.ʼ

ʻWell, nobody takes a joke-shop owner, renowned for his lame puns, serious. A massive advantage to being Head of Magical Law Enforcement.ʼ

Harry and Ron grinned at each other.

ʻNott may be an extremely cunning git,ʼ said Ron with very visible satisfaction, ʻbut he gets tipsy sooner than a house-elf. The only tricky thing was to get him to drink. Where is he now?ʼ

ʻHeʼs currently being interrogated. A report should be ready in two or three days if nothing urgent comes to light that forces us to act immediately. For now, we can do nothing but wait if he says anything interesting. Whether heʼs got any backers.ʼ Harry stopped abruptly and looked at his friend. Ron was far less likely than Hermione to wave aside his theory, probably be even over-supportive. But if Ron would think his idea nonsense, then he promised to himself to forget it too. ʻWhat do you think?ʼ he therefore added. ʻCould Malfoy be involved?ʼ

ʻIsnʼt the interrogation supposed to show that?ʼ

ʻOf course,ʼ said Harry hastily. ʻI just wanted your opinion.ʼ

Ron shrugged. ʻYou know me, I believe Malfoy capable of anything. But Hermione wonʼt hear a word. She pities him.ʼ

ʻBecause of his wife?ʼ

Ron nodded. ʻShe met her and she seemed to have been nice. I donʼt know. It _is_ a bit fishy that hardly no one ever saw her, but then, donʼt ask me to understand a Malfoy. Did you know, heʼs still got that necklace that nearly killed Katie.ʼ

ʻWhat?ʼ

ʻYes, Hermione told me. And you know my maxim: Never trust a Malfoy, that familyʼs trouble.ʼ

Harry sighed.

Ron watched him attentively. ʻHarry,ʼ he said slowly. ʻAlbus is going to be alright. Iʼm sure. And I donʼt think little Malfoy is exactly dangerous, according to Rose heʼs thoroughly ignorable. Albus must tire of him sooner or later.ʼ

Harry attempted to smile. ʻNow I appear like a real prat. I wouldnʼt like it if my son just tired of his friends, that doesnʼt sound right to me. Friends should be - well, like you.ʼ

Ron grinned and gave a mock bow.

ʻDonʼt let it go to your head.ʼ

ʻNever promised,ʼ smirked Ron, struggling to his feet and putting the flasks back into the box. ʻBut we better both go home. Rose is panicking that her new broom could get damaged on the journey to Hogwarts. And these,ʼ he pointed at the three boxes he had left on Harryʼs desk, ʻare for James, Albus and Lily. Something that will broaden their minds. Nothing dangerous,ʼ he added hastily as Harry looked at the boxes with a rather worried expression.

ʻThanks,ʼ muttered Harry. ʻLetʼs get down to the Entrance Hall to Disapparate.ʼ Harry shook his head decisively, forcing his head free from worries for the moment. ʻHow do you reckon the chances that the Chudley Cannons will not finish bottom for a change?ʼ

Ron glared at Harry for a second in honour of his team before they left the office together, bantering about Quidditch.


	6. A Complication

Especially to **ChocolateSauce18** : I know this is very short but Iʼll certainly upload another (almost as short) piece before Good Friday. For the next longer scene, I only have the frame for now so Iʼm not sure how long it will take (it will contain Hagrid again). I hope you all still like it, the more people read this, the more nervous I get. Thank you so much.

* * *

 _This little scene happens just before Act One Scene Thirteen. It came to my mind that this should be a problem and thatʼs why I wanted them to discuss it._

Darkness was falling quickly when Albus and Scorpius finally reached Upper Flagley. Much to his relief, Albus noticed that there were signs over the whole village that informed the magical visitor of wizarding locations. The signs were slightly glowing, not like the Muggle adverts to draw attention to them (the Muggles wouldnʼt have seen them at all), but enough to tell a wizard that he was surrounded by magic. Thanks to the darkness, Scorpiusʼs school robes were relatively inconspicuous and their clothes had dried on their hike to the village though it didnʼt exactly help that Scorpius had caught a cold from the jump into the water. But luckily, Upper Flagley was such a small village that hardly anybody was outside in the evening.

The two boys hastened through the streets, directed by the signs, until they reached an old house on the border of the village. The house was not especially large, but high and crooked and clearly magical - there were windows opening and closing at random, the yard was housing a wild assembly of owls and cats and in the pond at one side of the house, there was constant movement from its various inhabitants. It would not have needed the little plaque that was fastened to the wall. They had reached St Oswaldʼs Home for Old Witches and Wizards.

ʻAlbus...ʼ said Scorpius when Albus directed his steps towards the house.

ʻWhat?ʼ

ʻDo you... well, maybe I got you wrong but I thought it might be your intention not to be found easily.ʼ

ʻWhat do you mean "found"?ʼ asked Albus. ʻI want to visit Amos Diggory.ʼ

ʻI understood that much,ʼ said Scorpius nervously and with a sneeze. ʻBut do you want the Ministry to find you?ʼ

ʻOf course not,ʼ snapped Albus. ʻStop blabbering and letʼs go inside.ʼ

ʻBut Albus...ʼ said Scorpius, lingering behind as Albus made two steps towards the house.

ʻWhat _is_ your problem?ʼ said Albus through clenched teeth.

ʻThe Trace.ʼ

ʻThe what?ʼ

Albus stared at Scorpius, thoroughly annoyed with his friendʼs behaviour. He hardly could stop himself from dragging Scorpius to the house while his friends was shaken by another attack of sneezing before he found his voice again.

ʻThe Ministry registers magic performed around under-age wizards.ʼ

Albus made a step back, alarmed. ʻAre you sure?ʼ he whispered.

When Scorpius nodded, all the energy that had brought Albus to the village flooded from his legs. ʻCan we get rid of it?ʼ

Scorpius shook his head.

ʻGreat,ʼ said Albus, angrily kicking against the nearest lantern. ʻWonderful. So, the Ministry will swoop down on us at any second.ʼ

ʻI think,ʼ Scorpius started slowly to say, looking at Albus with slight alarm, ʻthat at the moment we shouldnʼt be discovered. Not before they realise weʼre missing which should be, er, around now. But for the Ministry, we could be wizards who donʼt attend Hogwarts, or we couldnʼt have the right age yet for going to school. They canʼt assign magic to a specific person. And I think the Ministry is not surveying magical buildings for under-age wizardry, that would be too much work. But once they realise we miss, I suppose they will use it to find us.ʼ

ʻSo, for now, you think weʼre safe to enter the house?ʼ asked Albus eagerly while Scorpius needed to sneeze again after his speech. As soon as Scorpius had managed to nod reluctantly, he marched to the door and let fall down the knocker that was formed suspiciously like a poltergeist. It giggled viciously.

ʻWhat do you want?ʼ

ʻEr,ʼ said Albus, searching Scorpiusʼs eyes who had them fixed on the knocker with very obvious fright. ʻWeʼd like to see Amos Diggory.ʼ

ʻAmos Diggorihihihi.ʼ

To Albusʼs immense relief, the door swung open. Grinning, he turned to Scorpius and beckoned him to enter, ignoring his friendʼs panicked look. Cautiously, Scorpius stepped over the threshold and together they climbed up a small staircase and found themselves in a broad, light flooded hall a moment later.


	7. About Malfoy

_This is an extension of Act One Scene Fifteen. It starts with Hermioneʼs speech from the play with the first two sentences rendered verbatim. At the end of this short piece, Hermione will end with the (slightly altered) sentence from the play she started with._

ʻI mean it, Harry, I will not be Cornelius Fudge on this one. I will not stick my head in the sand. But it is of no use if we start to suspect each other. I donʼt just mean Dracoʼs anger with the Ministry because of Scorpius, but also those of us who suspect people because of what happened over twenty years ago. We all have the same goal.ʼ

Hermione looked pointedly at Harry, but he avoided her eyes, having not the least intention to discuss his suspicions about Malfoy again – not when Hermione showed absolutely no inclination to take him serious. Instead, he glanced at Ron who didnʼt look happy with Hermione either.

ʻHermione,ʼ Ron started warily. ʻWe are talking about Draco Malfoy. The son of Lucius Malfoy. The nephew of Bellatrix Lestrange. Remember what he used to call you. Remember how he nearly frizzled us in the Room of Requirements. How he tortured you in his manor. How can you say we have the same goal. Why are you fooling yourself?ʼ

Hermioneʼs lips had thinned in a very McGonagall-ish way during Ron's speech. ʻProbably,ʼ she said very quietly, ʻI have not only a better memory than you, but also have had more opportunities to get to know Draco.ʼ

ʻBut think about it,ʼ insisted Ron, leaning towards her. ʻWho did he marry? A Slytherin pure-blood. Why did he marry her? First, because sheʼs pure-blood. Second, because sheʼd won a comparatively decent reputation due to the fact that she provided evidence against the Carrows and their entourage. You see, he ensured that he could continue his pure-blood doctrine without too much looking like the Death-Eater he is. And there is after all something odd about his brat. Iʼm telling you, George and I, we have had every single Hogwarts student in the shop, even Goyleʼs. Never little Malfoy. Never.ʼ

Hermione stared daggers at her husband. ʻWhy has Draco married Astoria?ʼ she exclaimed. ʻHow about because he was in love with her? But of course, that would be a too far-fetched explanation for Ronald Weasley. Undoubtedly, _you_ married me only to give your dad the chance to discuss batteries-ʼ

ʻHermione-ʼ

Hermione impatiently waved him silent. ʻ _I_ can assure _you_ that I have once met poor Astoria and found her to be perfectly amiable. Remember what Hannah told us about her. And even more telling, I have met her house-elf and I came to the conviction that she absolutely adored her mistress. I donʼt want to dwell on the idiocy of your second point. Just because Scorpius doesnʼt go into joke shops, heʼs a Dark Wizard. Very likely.ʼ

Hermione fixed Ron with a reproachful gaze. Smiling a bit sheepishly, Ron glanced away at Harry. Hermione turned to him too, her eyes narrowed. Harry fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair. ʻWell,ʼ he said slowly. ʻIt couldnʼt harm to keep an eye on Malfoy...ʼ

ʻOh, it couldnʼt harm to suspect someone just because you donʼt like each other,ʼ said Hermione sarcastically. ʻThere is no evidence, not even a hint, that Draco has got anything to do with these happenings. Honestly, we have all heard of Dracoʼs row with his father over the marriage with Astoria, I donʼt understand how you can ignore it, Ron. Weʼve got it directly from Neville who was at the Leaky Cauldron when it happened. So I may quote what Lucius Malfoy yelled at his future sister-in-law, "You will never enter Malfoy Manor again, you filthy, little blood traitor." And how did Draco react?ʼ

Hermione glared at Ron who eyed her full of doubt.

ʻHe said, "Fine, Iʼm moving out", didnʼt he?ʼ answered Hermione finally herself.

ʻHe didnʼt move out if you havenʼt noticed,ʼ interjected Ron, looking mutinous.

ʻOnly because his mother could convince his father to accept Astoria,ʼ said Ginny gravely. ʻIf you had heard Hannah telling-ʼ

ʻWhat makes you so sure that this was not planned!ʼ exclaimed Ron. ʻDoes it look like the Malfoys to have a public row? No, they made this up so that Malfoy got a better press.ʼ

ʻEnough of this,ʼ said Hermione sharply. ʻI said it before and I repeat it, such suspicions arenʼt helping us in the least. We must study what we know and investigate. If there should really be evidence that there is a connection to the Malfoys, donʼt doubt that I shall have it as assiduously examined as any other evidence. Whatever I will have to do, Iʼll do and I donʼt care how unpopular it makes me either with you or with Draco Malfoy - or with anyone.ʼ


	8. Consolation

_This piece more or less adapts/replaces Act Two Scene Twelve to end just before Act Two Scene Fourteen (which I relocated for probabilityʼs sake). I wrote it because – considering how I had depicted Hagrid before – it was so logical that Scorpius would turn to him._

Scorpius slowly walked down the staircase to the Great Hall. He was fighting back tears, something that seemed to have become his second nature over the last few days. His life at Hogwarts had changed dramatically for the worse since he had arrived again. For what was the use of being in this wonderful place when he was totally alone – alone with the knowledge that he had done something terrible? Sometimes, when he was at his most deject and lonely, he would take the Time-Turner out from his robes and brood over all the things they had caused to happen or not to happen by their little trip into the past. He spent hours in the library, reading up on Time-Turners, interrupted by sudden tears as he gradually realised how unbelievably irresponsible they had been and appalled at his own stupidity.

He remembered all too painfully how he had noticed the little differences that finally had convinced him that time had indeed changed. He had been so eager to check the history books, so hopeful. But nothing in his life had changed, and the changes that had taken place were anything but for the better. He remembered how he had tentatively asked after his mother and, when his fatherʼs reaction proved that she was still dead, it had felt as if he had lost her anew and he had completely broken down. The only positive consequence was that his father had been so shocked and worried about him that he hadnʼt tried to interrogate him as to where he and Albus had been. The next shock came when he had realised that Rose was no more, more correctly, had never been. They had erased a human being and – as horrible as this would already have been – not only any human but a relative and an absolutely wonderful person. He had not been worried about Albus being sorted into Gryffindor. After all, Albus was still Albus but...

As he descended the stairs step by step, he suddenly saw a figure hastily making his way through the Entrance Hall.

ʻAlbus! Wait.ʼ

Scorpius wanted to race down the stairs but forgot a trick step and half fell through the staircase, hitting one knee against the edge of the step, bruising his elbows and biting his lower lip. After some struggling, he succeeded in freeing his leg from between the stairs. In the meantime, Albus had vanished from sight. Licking away the blood that trickled from his lip, Scorpius curled himself into a compact ball on the stairs, rubbing his aching elbows, and started to sob.

ʻAre you alright?ʼ

Blinking, Scorpius stared up at the girl who looked down at him with great concern, a Prefect badge on her chest.

ʻYouʼre nameʼs Malfoy, right? Do you need help?ʼ

Scorpius wavered for a moment and then shook his head.

ʻAll right,ʼ she said, unconvinced. ʻIf thereʼs something I can do for you, donʼt hesitate to come to me.ʼ

Scorpius nodded nervously. With an consoling smile, she patted his head and went away.

When she had disappeared in the Great Hall, Scorpius scrambled to his feet and walked down too to enter the hall for lunch, not because he was hungry – in his present situation he threw up more than he gulped down – only for the sake of doing something and taking lunch at lunchtime was a normal thing to do. Just as he entered, Albus came out of the hall, his eyes on the floor and looking sick. Scorpiusʼs face lightened up and he gripped his friendʼs sleeve. Albus spun around in shock and his face paled with panic. Freeing himself from Scorpiusʼs hold, he dashed away. At a complete loss, Scorpius looked after him, tears welling up in his eyes again. After one glance at the sunny sky in the hall, he turned and jumped up the stairs to seek a refuge in the library. Without looking, he snatched up the nearest book and sank in his preferred chair in the shadow.

The book shaking violently in his hands, he remained crouched for about a minute until some coherence came back to his thoughts. He didnʼt understand. Time had changed, but why had Albus? It didnʼt make sense that he was constantly rebuked by his friend during the last days. He had desperately tried to gain at least an explanation for this cruel behaviour from Albus, but he had never been given an opportunity. Yet, if Scorpius knew Albus, and until recently he had thought he knew him well, Albus was no happier with the separation than he was. He would try again to talk to Albus. He simply had to.

Having calmed down enough to regain his senses, Scorpius drew a deep breath. There was still one person at Hogwarts who had always been kind to him. It was time to try whether at least Hagrid had remained his friend.

Resolutely, Scorpius stood up to put the book he had taken back on the shelf. Before he did so, he glanced down at the cover and read its title, _Dragon-Breeding for Pleasure and Profit_. Scorpius nodded grimly to himself, this sounded like a really good sign.

As the majority of the students were still in the Great Hall at lunch, Scorpius allowed himself to walk slowly downstairs and further into the grounds, revolving the different theories he had formed in his mind and trying to figure out what might have happened to his friend.

There were several possibilities to be considered. The first was that the Time-Turner – while leaving himself intact – had changed Albus into another self. This would mean that they never had been friends in this alternative reality, thus Albus had no knowledge of their time travel or why he should talk to him at all. One argument for this theory could be that Albus had been hurt, thereby being changed, while he himself had stayed unharmed. Yet, Scorpius was very unconvinced by this reasoning, he didnʼt have the feeling that Albus refused talk to him because he didnʼt know him, rather he seemed to be afraid of getting into contact. But the theory could easily be tested. If he was not friends with Albus, he might also not be friends with Hagrid. Therefore, Hagrid should be easily able to help him clarify this point.

If Albus still knew about their adventure, he might be angry that they had failed. Should this be true, Scorpius couldnʼt completely help himself from considering his friend rather ungrateful. The whole time travel affair had been Albusʼs idea and Scorpius would not really have needed all the books he had recently read to know very well that it was dangerous to mess with time.

The only other theory Scorpius could come up with was that Albus was forbidden to speak to him. But he was entirely clueless why anybody should do something like that. For whatever Albusʼs problem was, the Time-Turner and what had happened because of it were a disaster they had brought about together and Scorpius needed his whole amount of friendship not to blame Albus primarily. In any case, they really should try to solve it together. For Scorpius yearned to report what they had done and ask for help to correct it. But without Albusʼs consent, he didnʼt dare to take the initiative.

Lost in his thoughts, his feet had carried him right to Hagridʼs threshold. Scorpius raised a hand, hesitating for a moment. If Hagrid wasnʼt his friend, he would have a hard time explaining what he was doing here. And yet, he simply had to risk it. He needed more personal information about himself and Albus, and Hagrid was the only one he might confide in. If Hagrid was the Hagrid he knew. Scorpius gulped and half let his hand sink. But he couldnʼt go back to the castle, as ignorant as before. ʻYou must do this,ʼ he whispered sharply to himself, raised his hand again and knocked.

Scorpius could hear Hagrid approaching his door and had to fight the desire to run. Forcefully, he tramped on his own foot to distract himself just as the door opened and Hagridʼs bushy face appeared.

Scorpiusʼs fears were immediately dissipated when Hagrid beamed down at him with all of his usual cordiality.

ʻScorpius! How good ter see yeh. Yeh anʼ Albus caused quite a panic. Jumpinʼ from the train... Where have yeh left Albus?ʼ

Scorpius was so relieved to be greeted in this manner that he stumbled forwards and embraced Hagrid, breaking into tears, slightly unsure whether he cried out of joy, relief or sorrow.

Hagrid somehow transferred the boy to a chair where Scorpius hiccoughed himself to his senses again and ordered his thoughts. One important point had already become clear, he could abandon the first theory. But there still remained many questions and he was unsure about his further proceedings. At a loss, he let his eyes wander around the hut, finally fixing the huge bowl Hagrid had before himself. He stretched to see its content.

ʻAre these some kind of eggs?ʼ he asked, trying not to sound too critical. ʻWhatʼs going to hatch from them?ʼ

ʻOh, theyʼre salamander eggs,ʼ said Hagrid nonchalantly. ʻBuʼ nothinʼ will hatch, I need ter shell ʼem as food fer the fire crabs.ʼ

ʻFire crabs?ʼ repeated Scorpius, doing his best to sound delighted.

ʻOnʼy fer the fifth years,ʼ responded Hagrid. ʻIʼm afraid yehʼll have ter wait a bit till we treat them. But now, more importanʼ than fire crabs, whatʼs happened?ʼ

ʻCan I help you shell the eggs?ʼ asked Scorpius instead, glad for an excuse that gained him time to think.

Hagrid shoved the bowl towards the boy and went to get a plate to store the shelled eggs while Scorpius tried to organise his thoughts.

ʻThere,ʼ said Hagrid far too soon, sitting down again. ʻWhat happened ter yeh? First jumpinʼ from thaʼ train, and now we suddenly have ter reorganise the time table so that yeh and Albus are in different classes-ʼ

ʻReally?ʼ said Scorpius, taken aback, as he took an egg and started to shell.

ʻYeah, itʼs strange. Yeh didnʼ know?ʼ

Scorpius shook his head.

ʻCurious,ʼ muttered Hagrid. ʻIt canʼ have anythinʼ ter do with yer train adventure? What did yeh do anyway?ʼ

ʻWe...ʼ started Scorpius, still undecided about how much he should tell. Slowly, he put the shelled egg on the plate and took a new one from the bowl. ʻAlbus just came into the compartment and said that we had to go off the train and he was very strange-ʼ

ʻStrange?ʼ

ʻYes, kind of... excited,ʼ said Scorpius cautiously, staring decidedly at the egg he was shelling. ʻAnd he said... he wanted to fix something and heʼd need my help.ʼ

ʻSo yeh jumped from the train because Albus was planninʼ something. But then yeh came to Hogwarts, instead. Yeh changed yer mind?ʼ

ʻYe- er, what - did Albus - say anything?ʼ stammered Scorpius.

ʻNot ter me,ʼ answered Hagrid. ʻI havenʼ seen him yet. Whatʼs he doinʼ now?ʼ

ʻI... donʼt know,ʼ said Scorpius, incapable of keeping the helplessness out of his tone. ʻHe wouldnʼt talk to me anymore, heʼs avoiding me.ʼ

ʻDid yeh convince him ter abandon his plan and return ter Hogwarts?ʼ

ʻN... no, we decided together to come here.ʼ

ʻItʼll be some misunderstandinʼ,ʼ said Hagrid reassuringly. ʻPeople at yer age act sometimes unreasonably.ʼ

ʻItʼs not-ʼ said Scorpius, looking up from his egg to stare at Hagrid while he searched for a better word, but ended up muttering, ʻ-fair.ʼ

ʻDonʼ worry,ʼ said Hagrid with a warm smile. ʻThatʼll be alright again. I remember, when his father was yer age, he had a row with Ron, thaʼs-ʼ

ʻRoseʼs dad.ʼ

ʻWhaʼ?ʼ

ʻNothing,ʼ said Scorpius hastily, turning pink.

ʻWell, Harry and Ron, there was nothinʼ ter row about, but they didnʼ talk to each other for abouʼ a month.ʼ

ʻBut Albus actually is-ʼ Scorpius stopped himself, both caution and loyalty forbidding him to blame Albus. ʻHagrid, please donʼt tell anybody what Iʼm going to say.ʼ

Hagrid gave Scorpius a very surprised look and remained silent for a moment. ʻI canʼ promise that, Scorpius,ʼ he finally said. ʻIʼm a teacher. If yeh have broken an important rule-ʼ

ʻWorse,ʼ said Scorpius, gulping. ʻHave you ever heard about Eloise Mintumble?ʼ

Hagrid shook his head.

ʻAbout Croaker?ʼ

ʻNo, who are they?ʼ

Scorpius fidgeted on the spot, not daring to become any clearer. ʻHagrid,ʼ he pleaded instead. ʻPlease, I do want to tell you, but this hugely concerns Albus. I donʼt want to do anything without his consent, and yet, we must do something. But Albus isnʼt talking to me anymore even though I canʼt believe he hasnʼt realised in what a mess we are-ʼ

ʻThe two of yeh?ʼ

ʻNo – yes,ʼ stuttered Scorpius. ʻItʼs bigger than this, itʼs too big for us and we do need help.ʼ

ʻYeh know, Iʼd do what I can ter help yeh.ʼ

Scorpius wondered for a moment what strange contortions were happening to the muscles in his own face when he realised that he was smiling at Hagrid. ʻThank you.ʼ

ʻTer sum it up, yeh need ter talk to Albus so that yeh can agree on asking fer help?ʼ stated Hagrid.

Scorpius nodded, fishing another salamander egg from the bowl. ʻYou know,ʼ he confided, ʻmy life has never been huge fun, I mean... with Mum... and so many mocking me but... I had Albus as a friend and plans for the future-ʼ Scorpius stopped himself, both because he couldnʼt mention Rose, and even if he could – he would not even tell Hagrid that he had already decided on her bridal bouquet.

ʻIf Albus hasnʼ listened ter yeh till the end oʼ the week,ʼ said Hagrid with determination, ʻIʼm goinʼ ter invite him down here. And if he doesnʼ explain himself, Iʼll put both of yeh in detention together. He wonʼ be able ter escape yeh then.ʼ

A blubbering sound escaped Scorpius as he simultaneously chuckled and snivelled. ʻThanks again, Hagrid,ʼ he said, placing another shelled egg on the plate and reaching for the bowl. ʻOh, weʼre finished.ʼ

ʻAlready?ʼ said Hagrid, looking down. ʻThaʼ should make the fire crabs happy. Yeh need ter wash yer hands?ʼ

Scorpius nodded, stretching his slimy hands from himself as he followed Hagrid out of the hut to the water barrel. Rubbing off the remains of the eggsʼ membranes, tears began to streak down his face again, partly out of the despair of the last few days, partly because he finely felt lighter.

ʻHead up! Everythinʼ will be fine,ʼ said Hagrid as he noticed, patting Scorpius lovingly on the back so that he sent the boyʼs head into the water.

ʻI really hope so,ʼ spluttered Scorpius as he emerged again, managing to smile as he wiped the water from his face before shaking Hagridʼs hand. ʻI need to look up some things in the library before classes. See you tomorrow in lesson.ʼ

He ran back up to the school while Hagrid waved him goodbye but had only proceeded a few yards when he could make out some fifth years in the distance, walking in his direction for their lesson. Wishing to avoid them, he turned to the vegetable patch.

Without a doubt, he felt better than before, extremely glad to have had this conversation with Hagrid. He finally dared to be hopeful again. Scorpius stared dreamily ahead as he heard a shushing sound behind himself. He turned on the spot, alarmed that someone might want to use the occasion to bully him. He had half reached for his wand when he recognised the tall figure rising from behind a shrub.

* * *

 _A/N A question to those of you who are more knowing in (Magi-)Zoology: How is it possible to shell salamander eggs like in GoF, Ch. 22 (p. 427 in my edition)? Salamander eggs donʼt have shells, have they?  
_


	9. Through the Forest

_This scene continues Act Three Scene Twenty. Nobodyʼs crying here, thank goodness..._

Albus opened his mouth, but after about five seconds closed it again, the feeling of powerlessness overwhelming him. His mind still completely blank, he made another attempt to poduce something resembling human speech, but when he tried to utter a sound he felt as if he was being gagged.

Scorpius watched him expectantly for some more seconds before he gave Hogwarts castle a frightened glance. ʻWe really should be going,ʼ he hissed. ʻWe must not be seen!ʼ

ʻDoes it matter anymore?ʼ growled Albus, rediscovering his voice upon hearing Scorpiusʼs. ʻWe ruined everything anyway. We... itʼs useless.ʼ

ʻYou just said yourself we need to stop her,ʼ said Scorpius, returning his eyes to the castle. ʻAnd weʼre certainly not able to do that if we donʼt know what sheʼs going to do.ʼ

ʻAnd how do you plan to find out what she is going to do?ʼ

Scorpius tore his eyes from Hogwarts and started to march towards the exit of the Quidditch pitch. Momentarily taken aback, Albus hurried after him.

ʻSheʼs left the grounds,ʼ said Scorpius once Albus had caught up with him. ʻWhatever sheʼs up to, itʼs not going to happen at Hogwarts. We can do nothing here. Probably itʼll be possible to find some newspaper in Hogsmeade without anybody noticing so that we at least know whatʼs going on, in what time we are.ʼ

ʻGreat,ʼ huffed Albus. ʻThat sounds like a really elaborate plan.ʼ

ʻIf you have a better idea, this might be the moment to share it.ʼ

Albus bit back a scathing reply, very well aware that his mingled feelings of anger, horror and betrayal had nothing to do with his friend. Instead, he accelerated his steps and they broke into a run down the way to Hogsmeade. Then there progress was abruptly stopped for the gates of the castle were chained shut. Albus gazed up to the two winged boars flanking the gates and let his eyes travel across the wall that stretched out before them. Fighting back the dread that threatened to overtake him, he turned to Scorpius. But his friendʼs face, staring at the gates, was as helpless as Albus felt.

ʻWhat are we to do now?ʼ Albus finally whispered. ʻIf we could only Apparate! Then we could get out of here.ʼ

Scorpius turned from the gates to stare at Albus with disbelief. ʻDonʼt be ridiculous. You canʼt Apparate in the grounds of Hogwarts. When have you last looked into _Hogwarts, A History_?ʼ

Albus snorted. ʻWhy should I? Iʼve got you.ʼ Scorpius continued to glare at him so that Albus preferred to turn his attention to the obstacle before them again. ʻAnyway, Apparating doesnʼt help us. Yet, we _must_ get out. Is there anything in _Hogwarts, A History_ that helps us there?ʼ

ʻ _Hogwarts, A History_ is not-ʼ started Scorpius in his most annoyingly lecturing tone.

ʻWhyʼs the gate locked?ʼ cut in Albus quickly.

Scorpius stopped in mid-sentence and looked up to the boars, frowning. ʻItʼs certainly not a good sign,ʼ he said quietly. ʻThese must be troubled times.ʼ He chewed his lower lip and let his gaze wander along the walls. His face hardened. ʻWeʼve got to go back and try to walk through the forest.ʼ

Albus turned so fast to face Scorpius that he almost lost his balance and needed several attempts until he found his voice. ʻThrough the Forbidden Forest?ʼ he croaked. ʻWe never get through it alive. And anyway, how do you know the wall doesnʼt lead around it?ʼ

Scorpius sighed. ʻIf you had read-ʼ

ʻRight,ʼ interrupted Albus. ʻThe wall doesnʼt lead around the forest. Got it. But why donʼt we just go along the wall until it ends? Then we donʼt have to enter the forest?ʼ

Scorpius gave Albus a pitying look. ʻHas it ever occurred to you that these walls might be magical?ʼ

ʻMeaning?ʼ

ʻIf you walk along them, they will never stop,ʼ said Scorpius in a maddeningly patient tone. ʻBut they donʼt lead around the forest because that might draw attention to them despite the Muggle Repellant Charms. If you travel through the forest, the walls wonʼt know weʼre there so we can get through.ʼ

ʻBut we canʼt get through!ʼ Albus almost shouted. ʻThere are all sorts of things in the forest. Werewolves and-ʼ

ʻThere are no Werewolves in the forest,ʼ said Scorpius, starting to sound vexed too. ʻIf you have any safer suggestion, Iʼd love to hear it.ʼ

Albus racked his brain, but he knew only too well that there was no alternative and they were wasting their time - if they still had any time to waste... Albus gulped and fought back his panic. ʻWe probably should hurry,ʼ he said hoarsely.

He turned on his heels and sprinted right back to where they had come from, closely followed by Scorpius. The two boys ducked and ran with all the speed they could muster when they came in view of Hagridʼs hut. After a desperate race during which they constantly checked their surroundings for potential onlookers, they reached the border of the forest and without anymore thinking they rushed along the first track that led into the darkness of the trees. When they couldnʼt be seen from the outside anymore, they slowed down.

ʻAnd now?ʼ said Albus, panting and leaning against the next tree trunk. ʻWeʼve got no wands!ʼ

ʻWe just must go on,ʼ said Scorpius through the hand he had pressed before his mouth, swaying slightly on the spot. ʻAfter all, weʼve still got hope.ʼ

Albus half opened his mouth to contradict his friend, but then he thought about his parents and the danger they were in. They needed to do something against the threat even though they didnʼt know how. Albus straightened up.

ʻLetʼs go,ʼ he said, forcing himself to sound far more determined than he felt.

With Albus in the lead, they hurried along the path, deeper and deeper into the forest. The trees grew continually thicker and taller and although the sun was rising higher and higher in the sky, their surroundings became darker and darker. Soon they needed to use their hands to move from tree to tree, always staring nervously into the darkness where all sorts of small noises were magnified to their wary ears. They were wandering through the forest what seemed to them like days and certainly were some hours as the sun seemed relatively high when there was a noise different from all that they had heard before. And soon it became clear, that the sound was approaching them. With feelings bordering on panic, they stood close together as something huge drew nearer - a man on a horse was Albusʼs first thought, but the horse didnʼt have a head...

ʻGood morning,ʼ said the man with a deep voice. ʻYou must be from the school. Are you with Hagrid? I thought students were not allowed alone into the forest? Especially in such dark times as these.ʼ

Despite the civil tone, Albus shuddered and made a step back. After a very uncomfortable moment of silence, Scorpius cleared his throat with what sounded more like a squeak.

ʻGood morning Mr Centaur─ʼ

ʻMagorian,ʼ corrected the centaur, moving nearer so that they could faintly see his proud face with long black hair.

ʻMr Magorian,ʼ repeated Scorpius. ʻWell, weʼre not exactly students – meaning we are – but not really now – and we should not be, er, seen. Itʼs a bit difficult, but we could mess up time and...ʼ

The centaur didnʼt look troubled at all though a slight trace of interest appeared on his haughty features.

ʻThe stars,ʼ he suddenly said, ʻhave changed a lot lately. After great forebodings of darkness, we centaurs thought we could detect signs of hope. But just tonight a cloud─ʼ

ʻA cloud?ʼ interrupted Albus, taken aback by this formulation. ʻDad said Bane said there was a cloud around me.ʼ

Magorian looked at Albus, the interest slightly more visible on his face. ʻBane said so?ʼ he asked softly.

Albus turned red. ʻWell, no – not now, exactly – but he will say so... if nothing worse... the cloud...ʼ

ʻYou need help?ʼ asked the centaur briskly.

Albus and Scorpius looked at each other, amazed at the appearance of helpfulness from a centaur. ʻWell,ʼ said Scorpius, making a step forward. ʻWe would like to – kind of – get away from Hogwarts. Through the forest. Safely. And could you tell us what year it is? Please.ʼ

Magorian looked at him calmly. ʻYears!ʼ he said finally, shaking his head. ʻLabelling them with numbers. Centaurs do not care about such human inventions. But I believe in your honesty and the graveness of your mission whatever it may be. I will lead you through the forest. After all, the protection of foals is sacred to centaurs. You may follow me.ʼ

The centaur galloped away quickly. Albus and Scorpius exchanged one glance, then they ran after him. Soon their sides burnt, their throats were ice-cold and their breathing was ragged, but they stumbled on, their only goal to keep up with the centaur. After a long while, the trees started to look younger again and slowly they shrank in size and height till at last the sunlight reached through the trees once more.

The centaur stopped and turned to them. Both collapsed on the ground, panting and retching. After having contemplated them for a moment with a rather bored expression, the centaur stepped slowly into the darkness of the forest again, pointing in the other direction.

ʻYou can go along that path and will soon reach the border of the forest. Then you will see a small stream. Follow the course of the water. It is said in the forest that it will lead at last to human civilisation. More I know not.ʼ

He turned and was swallowed by darkness.

ʻThank you,ʼ tried Scorpius to scream after him, but his voice was so hoarse that even Albus next to him hardly understood the words. Both scrambled to their feet.

ʻDo you think there will be any consequences in the future from talking with the centaur?ʼ croaked Albus.

ʻI hope no. Centaurs after all do not meddle with humans usually. And we had no choice after all.ʼ

Albus nodded dejectedly and they both walked in the indicated direction, slowly at first but despair soon forcing them to break into a run again.

* * *

 _A/N Iʼve only got one other chapter planned thatʼs a kind of Letʼs Talk About Whatʼs Happened scene. So if youʼve got the feeling that important stuff is missing here and youʼve been waiting for it, tell me so (I didnʼt include here a scene where Ginny and Draco meet at platform nine and three quarters, dunno if anybodyʼd find it interesting...). And of course, many thanks to you who have read until here, youʼre absolutely wonderful!_


	10. On the Train to London

_This scene happens shortly after Act Four Scene Twelve or Thirteen, but back in normal time. Delphiʼs been delivered up to the Aurors and the protagonists return home._

With Albus nestled in her arms, Ginny sank into the nearest seat while Ron and Hermione settled down opposite her. With a sigh of relief, Draco dropped Scorpiusʼs limp form on a seat on the other side of the aisle before collapsing himself next to his son. Harry gave Ginny one reproachful glance before he took the seat facing his former arch-enemy.

Muggles settled down in compartments around them and Harry quickly put his jacket on the free seat next to him though the train was not even half full – a fact that greatly relieved Harryʼs conscience from taking up the extra-space. Ron leant back and closed his eyes, taking Hermioneʼs hand, who watched him with silent amusement. Albusʼs head dropped on his motherʼs shoulder and Ginny softly rocked him to and fro. Draco smiled down at Scorpiusʼs peaceful face, cradling the boyʼs head in his lap. Harry stretched out his hand across the aisle and caressed Ginnyʼs arm, making her turn.

ʻWhat?ʼ she asked, snatching his hand in hers, continuing to rock Albus.

ʻNothing,ʼ answered Harry, smiling weakly. ʻI just needed to know youʼre here.ʼ

ʻHas your eyesight deteriorated so suddenly?ʼ said Ginny with a smile before she had to let go of Harryʼs hand to allow a Muggle to get past them.

ʻTheseʼve been some stressful hours,ʼ mumbled Harry, but Hermione put a finger to her lip and pointed warningly at the surrounding Muggles. Harry nodded to her, slightly annoyed at her lack of trust in his common sense.

ʻRon would subscribe there, wouldnʼt you Ron?ʼ asked Ginny, treading mockingly on his foot.

ʻBeing but a little sister, I refuse you the right to speak up in front of your elders.ʼ

ʻRon!ʼ

ʻReally,ʼ said Ron, opening his eyes to witness Ginnyʼs amusement and Hermioneʼs reproach. ʻThere a poor old man is driven through the most mortal perils and all he gets as reward are heartless sneers.ʼ

ʻPoor little Ronniekins.ʼ

Draco sniggered what caused Ron to look a bit more outraged at Ginny than he would usually have done. ʻDo you have any idea how serious this business has been?ʼ he asked, glaring at his sister. ʻHow high the risks were? We could all have died! If it had not been for me and Weasleyʼs Wiz-ʼ

ʻShhh,ʼ hissed Hermione. ʻWeʼre on a train.ʼ

ʻYes, yes,ʼ grumbled Ron. ʻBut the idea that the Aurors will make a mistake and the second we arrive in London the whole Ministryʼll sweep down on us because she escaped, committed a mass-murder-ʼ

ʻVery impressive, I didnʼt know you possess any imagination, Weasleyʼ cut in Draco, looking up for a second from his son to sneer at Ron.

ʻIf you think thatʼs a laughing matter-ʼ began Ron, but Hermione put a hand on his arm.

ʻPlease,ʼ she said. ʻCanʼt we behave like grown-up people.ʼ

With an angry snort, Ron turned his back on her and glared at the few people on the platform as the train slowly started to move. Hermione smiled and shook her head before she turned to look at Draco instead, who was again focused on his son. She hesitated a moment, then got to her feet and stood next to Harry, leaning over to contemplate the sleeping boy. Draco tore his eyes from him to look questioningly at Hermione.

ʻYou know,ʼ she said, ʻIʼve heard of him from Rose and this didnʼt really prepare me for the real person.ʼ

Draco shrugged. ʻScorpius says that Rose is witty, charming and brave. What did you hear of him?ʼ

Hermione chuckled with slight embarrassment. ʻThat he was a weepy, little coward. But I think that was after he got better marks than she in History of Magic.ʼ

Draco caressed his sonʼs hair. ʻHe learnt reading with Bathilda Bagshotʼs _A History of Magic_. And the first thing he ever wanted for his Birthday was a copy of _Hogwarts. A History_ ─ʼ

ʻHorrible,ʼ muttered Ron, earning himself a kick against the shin from Ginny.

ʻThanks,ʼ saluted her Draco.

ʻMy pleasure.ʼ

Rolling her eyes and trying not to grin, Hermione staggered back to her seat. After a moment of silence, she carefully looked around, drew her wand and pointed it at the Muggle passengers.

ʻ _Muffliato_!ʼ

She observed the aisle for some seconds to make sure that no one payed them any attention, then turned to her companions. ʻNow,ʼ she said decidedly. ʻWe are still left with some questions.ʼ As the others gaped at her in silence, she sighed. ʻA couple of them Delphi should be able to answer for us. For example, how did she know about the Time-Turner. Did she have any accomplices, for example where is Rodolphus Lestrange. Or─ʼ

ʻOr for example, why has her cousin been unaware of her existence,ʼ cut in Ron, turning from the window and looking sharply past Hermione at Draco.

Slowly the others turned to Draco too, who looked thoroughly taken aback. ʻMy cousin...ʼ he repeated.

Hermione frowned. ʻSorry Draco, but Ronʼs got a point. She said she was born at your house. How could your parents not have noticed. Why didnʼt _you_ notice, you were there for the Easter holidays.ʼ

ʻYes, because Aunt Bellatrix was so someone to cuddle up to,ʼ spit Draco, glaring at her and causing Scorpius to slightly stir in his sleep. Ron already opened his mouth for a furious retort, but a look of Hermione silenced him. Draco looked around at the puzzled to (in Ron's case) hateful gazes that were directed at him until he added defensively, ʻYou didnʼt discern anything as well.ʼ

ʻI beg your pardon, but we were a bit preoccupied,ʼ hissed Ron back. ʻProbably it escaped your notice, but Hermione was being tortured nearly to death.ʼ

ʻStop it,ʼ cut in Ginny. ʻItʼs a bit late now to come up with charges.ʼ

ʻI didnʼt-ʼ

ʻRon!ʼ exclaimed Hermione, patting his arms. ʻAs Ginny and I are the only people present who have any experience with being pregnant, we should mention that it is indeed not especially difficult to hide this with magic. With some background it is also relatively unproblematic for a witch to deal with child birth by herself-ʼ

ʻReally?ʼ said Harry and glanced at Ginny. ʻThat sounded an awful lot more difficult when the midwife explained stuff to me.ʼ

ʻI didnʼt say itʼs advisable, only that itʼs possible. Concerning magical children, there can arise certain complications-ʼ

ʻThatʼs not that important now, is it?ʼ interrupted Ginny. ʻPoint is, it would have been possible to have a baby without anybody noticing, but to clarify this: do you think your parents knew, Draco?ʼ

ʻIʼm...ʼ he started. ʻI canʼt believe... I suppose Father didnʼt. He would have reported it, I think, he couldnʼt have had any interest in sparing her... Mother, Iʼm not sure... She was... not exactly close... Motherʼs relationship with Bellatrix was... I never really understood... but she might still have felt loyal to her... I do remember that Bellatrix was far less tortured than the rest of us when you escaped from the manor. But I just thought that was because she was more important... she was also the only one who got a wand again... Probably Lestrange will be able to say something and the people she grew up with-ʼ

ʻWhat troubles me much more,ʼ cut in Hermione, massaging her forehead, ʻis, why would Voldemort want a child?ʼ

ʻYes, Iʼve been wondering this too,ʼ said Harry slowly.

ʻProbably to have more influence by someone else helping him to rule,ʼ suggested Ron.

Harry shook his head. ʻThat doesnʼt make sense. Why would he want to share power, that is just not-ʼ

Ginny sucked in breath harshly.

ʻWhat?ʼ said Hermione.

ʻWell,ʼ she said hesitantly, looking strangely timid. ʻHe would only have to share if he hadnʼt been quite certain of Delphi being enough a part of him...ʼ

ʻWhen youʼve stopped being cryptic, please inform us,ʼ said Ron testily.

ʻNo, Ron,ʼ said Hermione, her eyes starting to gleam. ʻIf Delphi had not only been his daughter, but really a part of Voldemort─ʼ

ʻYou canʼt be implying that Voldemort would have wanted a child to make another Horcrux?ʼ said Harry, straightening up quickly. The mere idea made him feel sick and judging from Dracoʼs and Ronʼs expressions they were equally disgusted.

ʻWhy not?ʼ asked Hermione, her enthusiasm jarringly contrasting with the otherʼs nausea. ʻHe long knew the diary was destroyed. Would it be so strange if he wanted a substitute? He already had turned Nagini into a Horcrux, so he had experience with using living beings. He would have wanted the baby ready for when he finally killed you.ʼ

Harry stared at Hermioneʼs solved-riddle expression, not managing to mutter anything but, ʻThatʼs sick.ʼ

ʻWell, we arenʼt talking about the wizarding worldʼs sweetheart are we?ʼ said Ron, finding his good humour again. ʻHa, Delphi should be grateful we saved her from such a fate.ʼ

ʻShe looked mad enough to covet it,ʼ interjected Ginny, nose wrinkled.

ʻWe will certainly question her accordingly,ʼ said Hermione. ʻBut I donʼt think Voldemort would have communicated his plans of needing the child for a Horcrux if this had really been his plan. He told nobody about them, after all. And speaking about questioning her. The Aurors are now placing her in Azkaban, but she has – like everybody else – a right to be properly tried and convicted. And I am sorry, but Albus as well as Scorpius will have to testify in the trial.ʼ

She looked first at Albus, sleeping on his motherʼs shoulder, but Ginny mouthed ʻLaterʼ and Hermione nodded in agreement. When she looked at Scorpius, his father had already shaken him awake. The boy sat up, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

ʻWhat?ʼ he muttered.

ʻYouʼll have to witness,ʼ said Hermione. ʻAgainst Delphini Lestrange.ʼ

ʻOh,ʼ said Scorpius, blinking as his eyes focused on Hermione. ʻIs that her real name?ʼ

ʻYes,ʼ said Hermione soothingly. ʻShe said so when talking to Harry. Sheʼs your great-auntʼs daughter.ʼ

ʻWeʼre... related?ʼ Scorpius looked up at his father, his eyes widening in horror.

ʻWho claimed this imbecile is intelligent?ʼ grumbled Ron.

ʻYou,ʼ stated Hermione.

Ginny did her best not to shake too much with giggling so as not to disturb Albus while Harry had an equally hard time keeping a straight face at his friendʼs expression.

ʻYou compared him to Hermione when we were discussing the historical details of the attack on my parents,ʼ he pointed out, earning himself a look of utmost betrayal from Ron.

ʻAnd I do hope you consider me intelligent,ʼ Hermione said smugly, adding ʻWhatʼs the matter Draco?ʼ when he shook his head.

ʻItʼs just so surreal to be proud to have my son compared to you.ʼ

ʻThe comparison is completely in favour of Hermione.ʼ

ʻRon!ʼ

ʻItʼs still better to be compared to her than to be but her appendix,ʼ hissed Draco.

ʻI take pride in being Hermioneʼs appendix.ʼ

ʻDonʼt the Muggle Healers cut that thing away?ʼ

Hermione wrung her hands and looked deploringly at Ginny while Scorpius seemed to be in extreme danger of dislocating the bones in his neck by constantly turning from his father to Ron. After some deliberation, Ginny kicked Ron again which silenced him long enough to enable Hermione to turn to Scorpius.

ʻI heard youʼre taking Arithmancy. How do you like the subject?ʼ

The rest of the journey, Harry and Ron spent most of their time exchanging looks of increasing annoyance as Hermione and Scorpius emerged deeper and deeper into theories neither of them understood and they were sitting too far apart for any other conversation while Ginny and Draco seemed completely happy with gazing at their children. When the train finally reached London, Ron sighed deeply.

ʻI canʼt wait to be away from that nightmare. Where is a troll when you really need one?ʼ

ʻWould you like to use our chimney?ʼ forced Harry himself to say to Draco whose hand had ominously twitched towards his wand at Ronʼs words.

ʻWhy donʼt you stay with us until the boys return to Hogwarts?ʼ said Ginny cheerfully.

Draco looked undecidedly between Harry and Ginny. ʻYou know,ʼ Ginny continued as she got to her feet, ʻAlbus and Scorpius need some sleep and weʼve got more than enough bedrooms. And theyʼll both need new wands, you reach Diagon Alley more comfortably from Grimmauld Place.ʼ

ʻTo be honest, Harry,ʼ cut in Ron. ʻI wouldnʼt say no to a glass of your mead. We can shut up Hermione and Scorpius in Kreacherʼs old cupboard and have a fine little feast.ʼ

ʻVery funny, Ron,ʼ grumbled Ginny, bending over Albus to wake him up. ʻBut I suppose I couldnʼt get rid of you without losing Hermione. So, are we agreed?ʼ

ʻTo Grimmauld Place?ʼ asked Hermione.

ʻTo Grimmauld Place,ʼ confirmed Harry. ʻCome, Albus, letʼs get off this train like civilised people.ʼ

Albus smiled weakly and led the way to the platform of Muggle London.

* * *

 _A/N Well, I think thatʼs it, at least for the moment (I might make some additions later, so if youʼre scandalized because what you were waiting for never happened, PM me). Thanks for reading, favouriting, following and reviewing. Iʼll put up next a short story (+5000 words) about Hermione visiting Malfoy Manor when Scorpius is around nine, so I hope youʼre interested._


	11. Appendix 1: Albus' Sorting

_A/N I just thought that this piece is not that bad so maybe youʼll like it too. As to your suggestion, **Death Dame** , if you still read this after all this time: I really, really do like this idea, and I started it ages ago, deleted it again because it didn't work, and started anew. And again. Somehow it just wonʼt add up. Iʼll keep trying though, and maybe... one day._

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ʻWhen I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted. Anderson, Mark!ʼ

A boy who succeeded quite well in hiding his nervousness walked forward and put the hat on. It slid over his face, hiding it. There was a momentary silence...

ʻRAVENCLAW!ʼ shouted the hat, and the table second from the right burst into applause.

One by one the children were called forwards. With an increasing feeling of nausea, Albus watched two of Roseʼs new friends walk forward, the ones who had been so enthusiastic about his parentage. First the blond girl, apparently named Polly Chapman, and then the brown haired boy, a Yann Fredericks, were sorted into Gryffindor. And the more he looked at them, the less Albus liked them. They both had such an arrogant and self-assured air about them that he found the more repulsive the longer he watched them.

ʻGranger-Weasley, Rose!ʼ

Albus watched Rose hastening forwards to take her seat, looking all eagerness.

ʻGRYFFINDOR!ʼ shouted the hat almost immediately. Relieved and beaming, Albus followed her with his eyes as she joined her friends. He saw several of their cousins leaning towards her to congratulate. Soon afterwards, her table was joined by Karl Jenkins, the boy who had pointed at him when they had waited for being led into the hall.

A moment later Scorpiusʼ name was called to try on the hat. He stumbled forwards, looking very much scared as there were some sounds of derision audible from the students that were not quenched when the professor cleared his voice and let his gaze sweep through the hall. Doing the same, Albus had a clear view of Polly hissing, and Karl making a grotesque face. Albus felt confirmed. Roseʼs wonderful friends were supreme idiots. Meanwhile Scorpius had edged on the stool and put the hat on that now covered his whole head. As the hat remained silent for more than a minute, Albus started to feel hopeful without exactly knowing what he was hoping for, then...

ʻSLYTHERIN!ʼ

Albus winced involuntarily as Scorpius rose, gave him something like a parting smile and went to join the table on the right, followed by hisses and boos from the other tables into which Albus saw Roseʼs friends join again.

Soon it would be Albusʼs turn, and he was now feeling very clammy. Gryffindor house was full of people he had just decided to dislike. He would be all alone. He had the uncomfortable sensation that Hogwarts was not that wonderful as he had it imagined before. Soon Dinah Parker was sorted into Hufflepuff and then...

ʻPotter, Albus!ʼ

He stepped forwards and heard the excited whispering from the crowd. He shivered, and the sweets he had eaten with Scorpius weighed suddenly far heavier in his stomach. He slid on the stool, and as the hat dropped over his eyes he noticed among the many faces staring avidly up at him James grinning his most wicked grin.

ʻAnd Iʼll have to share a common room with him,ʼ thought Albus gloomily to be suddenly interrupted by a tiny voice.

ʻIn a bad mood, are you? But letʼs see, thatʼs quite interesting. You are not a coward, thatʼs also obvious.ʼ Albusʼ stomach lurched as he expected the hat to shout out his house and he gripped the stool. ʻI donʼt want to be in Gryffindor with all those idiots,ʼ he thought spontaneously, the faces of his brother and Roseʼs clique mingling in his head.

ʻNow, that is quite contrary to my expectations, and those are usually excellent,ʼ exclaimed the little voice. ʻThere you are, qualities so like your father and so contrary a reaction, I really am amazed.ʼ

Albus wondered for a moment what the hat was talking about, and the face of his father floated before him how he had said that the Sorting Hat took the own choices into account. But Albus didnʼt remember any preferences now. His worst fear had always been to land in Slytherin, the house of Dark Magic, the house that nearly destroyed the wizarding world. But these considerations were totally unsubstantial compared with the very real horror of Gryffindor houseʼs members.

ʻWell, well,ʼ said the hatʼs voice again, interrupting Albusʼs mental turmoil. ʻThere you are in quite a dilemma, are you not? Letʼs look at it neutrally, youʼre not stupid nor a coward, quite desirous to be on your own feet, to prove yourself, really yourself. That is very obvious in you... Well, if you donʼt protest then be - SLYTHERIN!ʼ

Albus removed the hat and stood up, shaking. He made a tiny step towards the table on the right, but suddenly the unnatural silence in the hall hit him. Everybody had their heads turned towards him with their eyes unblinking. He glanced over to his godfather who stared at him with bewilderment, to the staff table where Hagrid sat with his mouth hanging open. Albus felt his head getting red.

ʻNO!ʼ

Rose had shouted out loud. Albus looked over at her and saw her staring in utter disbelief at him, her lips forming the word ʻImpossible!ʼ over and over again. Suddenly the whole hall started buzzing. The blond girl next to Rose made a face, James showed off an ostentatious movement as if he had to vomit and then simulated banging his fists on the table while shaking all over with laughter. At the Slytherin table a weedy first-year finally started to clap and the rest of the table joined in hesitantly. Scorpius moved excitedly on the bench to make place and waved at Albus.

He looked down at his feet and, keeping his eyes fixed on them, hastened over. The students at the other tables were whispering excitedly with each other, and all Albus wanted was to disappear in the crowd, to escape from all the attention, and... Why! Why couldnʼt they all just shut up?


	12. Appendix 2: An Unexpected Letter

_A/N Huh, that just kinda wrote itself. Guess itʼs far easier to handle only two persons instead of a whole court room. Hope you enjoy it,_ _ **BlueWater5**_ _:)_

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ʻFinally!ʼ Harry exclaimed when he came into the kitchen for dinner and found Ginny reading a letter. ʻI thought Albus would never write.ʼ

ʻItʼs not from Albus.ʼ

Harryʼs grin slid from his face, and he slumped into the chair opposite his wife. She didnʼt look up, her eyes on the letter and with her torso slightly turned away from him. Harry frowned, trying to get a better look of her face to check whether there was anything wrong. ʻNot from Albus?ʼ, he repeated, unable to keep his uneasiness completely out of his voice, especially as Ginny remained rooted to the spot. ʻBut... why isnʼt he writing? Not an answering letter during his whole first week. How... Whose is it then?ʼ

ʻItʼs from James.ʼ

ʻReally?ʼ Grinning at the fact that his eldest son had made the effort to take a quill into his hand after only one week of school, Harry shook his head and leant over the table towards Ginny. ʻHow is he? We havenʼt heard from Minerva, that means he hasnʼt wrought major destruction yet. Despite sharing a common room with Albus.ʼ

ʻThey donʼt share a common room.ʼ

ʻOh...ʼ

Harry immediately got the meaning of the short statement. ʻGinny?ʼ he asked slowly as she still faced away from him. ʻIs something the matter with Albus? Ginny, can I read the letter?ʼ

Ginnyʼs shouldersʼ heaved, then she turned around and handed the letter to him without any comment.

ʻThanks,ʼ muttered Harry, sighing internally at the task of deciphering Jamesʼ illegible scribbles.

 _Mum! Dad!_

 _How is it at home? Howʼs Lily? Schoolʼs great. Apart from Professor Longbottom, can you believe that he took ten points from Gryffindor just because I tickled the Venomous Tentacula!_

 _But thatʼs not the funny part! How did you react when Al told you he was Sorted into Slytherin! I always knew it, I had the time of my life, it was impossibly comical to watch him stumble around up there with everybodyʼs eyes popping out of their sockets! It was so much fun!_

 _Thereʼs one damper though - I guess humanity is just not meant for complete happiness and thereʼs always someone to pour cold water over my enjoyments. Rose keeps telling me that I should stop laughing at Alʼs Sorting._ _Stupid cow[Crossed out]_ _My dear cousin is worrying about him, can you believe it! She gets angry when I make jokes. And you should hear how Victoire bosses me around. She keeps telling me to make my homework just because I forgot that Charms essay that was due over the holidays. My cousins are SO annoying._

 _Iʼm going to try out for the Quidditch team this weekend. A lot of good players have left so I think thereʼs a real chance that theyʼll take me on. Rose also wants to try though I tell her thatʼs nothing for babies. Honestly, she hasnʼt even had her first flying lessons. She tried to hex me. Imagine this, after one week of school._

 _Love,_

 _James_

 _P.S. I forgot another fun fact (or maybe you know this): People keep saying that that little Malfoy (honestly, he is hardly taller than Albus, and Albus is such a midget) is the son of Voldemort. And Albus is hanging out with him. Isnʼt this a scream!_

Harry lowered the letter and looked over to Ginny. ʻWhy... why hasnʼt Albus told this himself?ʼ

ʻI...ʼ said Ginny, finally looking him into the eyes. ʻDo you think heʼs scared of our reaction?ʼ

ʻI told him it didnʼt matter to us,ʼ said Harry, putting the letter on the table to keep himself from crumbling it. ʻThatʼs not a reason not to write to us. If he could consult me about something that was so important to him-ʼ Harry stopped as something else occurred to him. ʻWhy was Albus placed in Slytherin? He didnʼt want to go there.ʼ

ʻHe didnʼt want to go there before he boarded the train,ʼ said Ginny with a hint of reproach that Harry didnʼt understand. ʻHe obviously changed his mind. I guess he became friends with little Scorpius, and as he saw his friend sorted into this house, he decided that he wanted to be there too. After all, heʼs got two names to live up to.ʼ

ʻWhy should he have become friends with Malfoyʼs boy back then? He was travelling with Rose. And even if all this... thatʼs still no reason not to write to us,ʼ said Harry a little too loud. His voice dropping considerably, he continued, ʻI only want to know... why... how... what is going on inside his head?ʼ

ʻI know what you mean.ʼ Ginny reached out and put her hand on his, smiling at her husband. ʻWhen we write next we must congratulate him on his Sorting.ʼ

ʻWe canʼt congratulate him on what he hasnʼt told us himself.ʼ

ʻWeʼll write of course that James told us. And if he then decides to hate his brother forever... weʼre used to this since about eleven years.ʼ

Harry sighed and nodded. ʻI guess youʼre right. Are you going to write?ʼ

ʻI think itʼd be better if you did. Youʼre the one he asked because of the Sorting.ʼ

ʻIʼd rather you did. I donʼt know what I should say.ʼ

ʻHarry...ʼ

ʻLetʼs eat first,ʼ said Harry abruptly. He would deal with this later. His day at the Ministry had been stressful, and he could feel a severe headache coming. He just didnʼt want to fret over his son right now. Albus was a reasonable boy. Everything would return to normal in a couple of days. His son would start to write, and from this point on, they would have a regular exchange. Albus trusted and loved him, there was no doubt about that in the end they would get along as they had always done.


End file.
